


Big Daddy Dean

by Deadmockingbirds



Series: Big Daddy Dean Series [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Corporal Punishment, D/d, Destiel - Freeform, Diapers, Domestic Discipline, Domestic Fluff, Family Fluff, Father-Son Relationship, Jealous!Cas, Lawyer Sam Winchester, M/M, Manslut Dean, Mechanic Dean Winchester, Mild Angst, Mild Humiliation, Mild d/d, Pacifier - Freeform, Paddle, Raunchy Dean, Rough Sex, Sabriel - Freeform, Sarcastic Humor, Sexual Content, Slow Build, Spanking, Team Dean's Red Ass, Toddler Michael, asshole!Dean, bottles, brat!dean, cuteness, hairbrush used as discipline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-07
Updated: 2016-11-06
Packaged: 2018-04-13 09:24:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 35
Words: 224,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4516509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deadmockingbirds/pseuds/Deadmockingbirds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I like my life. No. I love my life. My name is Dean Winchester and I helped raise my brother, but now that he's a hot shot lawyer, married and's got kids of his own, I'm free to enjoy my life as I please, even if that means taking one sometimes two lovers a night. But then one morning, I wake up and there's a kid on my door step. Apparently, he's mine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Michael Inchester

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot is ripped from Big Daddy, the Adam Sandler movie. But really only the part about a kid being left on a doorstep, the rest my brain made up. 
> 
> **WARNING**  
>  It's in the tags, but it never fails someone always misses that this is a Domestic Discipline story and decides to write a comment with their negative opinion on DD anyway. So I'm talking about it here to tell you that if I see this, you will not be well received; I'll likely just delete those comments as I have found this is best for my muse. This is a topic that is near and dear to me, so yes I get offended when someone tires to say "this is abusive" or "Dean should seek therapy". I know it's not for everyone, and I never say it should be. I've had many ppl read this fic who are not into and never wish to practice DD, but would like to learn a little about it and are able to enjoy it from afar. I read many things of that nature myself, things I don't practice, but enjoy in fiction; heck, I write some of those things too. 
> 
> At the end of it, this is JUST a story. The people in this fic are not real and I hope it can be enjoyed for the loving tale it is; that it is in my heart. If that's you, please enjoy. If not, better click the 'X' at the top of your screen. 
> 
> Love Mock

It's a Sunday and I'm looking forward to sleeping in and relaxing on my only day off this week. Not that I don't technically have two days off, Bobby doesn't overwork me on purpose, but I always take overtime out of habit more than need nowadays. Originally, it was to put Sammy through school, but now that he's a big hot shot lawyer, moved out, got married and acquired kids of his own, you think I'd relax a bit. Not to mention if I was ever in a bind, Sammy's told me I'm welcome to whatever he has, money or otherwise.

He also knows I'd sell my left kidney before I'd ask him for financial help. Taking care of him's habit too. We lost Mom when I was four and Sammy was six months old, Dad had to work all the time just to make ends meet; I helped by looking after Sammy, then later by working in Uncle Bobby's shop. He helped me get my mechanic's license and I've been working for him ever since. Our Father died of a heart attack just before Sam's seventeenth birthday, a year and a half before his high school graduation, but there was no way I wasn't going to see him through to his dream, so I just worked and worked and fucking worked some more. Guess I never stopped.

So relax is what I'll do today after what's his name sleeping beside me leaves. I nudge him. "Hey. Hit the road pal."

'Pal' is a good looking Spanish dude I picked up from the bar last night after work.

"The name's Rick," he reminds me. Rick doesn't even have an accent, next time I'm getting someone a little more authentic.

"Well it was a good time, not a long time, so hop to it." Yeah I'm an ass; sue me.

I roll over and snuggle into my pillow all set to go back to sleep and stretch the fuck out. He'd had too many to drink, I don't wanna date the guy, but I felt like I should make sure he left my place in a decent state, so I let him sleep it off. But now, I trust he'll leave, except maybe I should at least walk him to the door so he doesn't steal anything? I'm too fucking cozy though. "Don't steal my shit," I warn him already drifting back off.

"Asshole."

Meh. I deserved that.

He's quick. I hear the sounds of him putting his clothes on then of him walking down the stairs, soon as the door opens I close my eyes. Ah. Peace. I wonder what I'll do today? I should mow the lawn, the gutters probably need seen to, but I'll leave that for another day. I know, I'll drink beer, mow the law and see if Sam and Gabe are game for a barbeque later. Perfect.

I know something's wrong when I don't hear the door shut. I've got kinda a sixth sense for that kinda thing. I was protective of my little brother and always looking over the house at night, making sure everything was locked up and slept like a guard dog worried someone would break in.

"Uh, Dean?" 'Rick' says. "There's a package for you."

A package? It's Sunday the mail's not even running. Oh I get it, 'package,' maybe that's his way of getting invited back up for more sex, but I'm so tired right now, I don't think I could get my dick to work. "Sorry pal, another time."

"You really are an asshole, Dean," he yells up the stairs. "But seriously, there's something…someone down here for you, should I let him in?"

Him? Huh? What the actual fuck?

"Just get the fuck out, and uh, tell whoever it is I'll be down is a fucking second!" Jesus Christ. Fine. Guess I am getting out of bed. I'll go see what this is about, tell it to fuck off and climb back into bed. Maybe by then my dick will be awake and I can jerk to some busty beauties, before I go back to sleep.

I put on a pair of boxer briefs, whoever's interrupting my beauty sleep can deal with me mostly naked. I storm downstairs, Rick's gone, which is lucky for him because he left my fucking door open and there's no one there. Oh. I get it. This was to get me back for being a dick. Hardy har. Joke's on me. Next time I see that guy…

Fuck. I walk over to close the door and my blood freezes. There's a kid there. He's just a little guy wearing clothes that are three sizes too big for him. He's got neat, dark hair and the bluest fucking eyes I've ever seen; they're also the saddest eyes I've ever seen—just what the hell has this kid been through? He's pale and thin and sucking on one of those pacifier things one of my nephews still has. It looks like he's been crying and he's shivering. He's got a little hoodie on, but who knows how long he's been out here just sitting quietly.

He's looking at me with a hopefully sad expression and he takes a big sniffle, but his nose is still running. Is he sick? Or is that from crying? There's a diaper pinned to the front of his hoodie with an envelope on top, on the envelope it says: Dean Winchester. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. None of this looks good for me.

He takes his soother out. "D-does, does you have a Kleenex?" his trembling little voice asks then pops his soother back in, snot dripping down to his mouth, little hiccups making his chest jump.

I've only just set eyes on him, but I can read people good and there's something I know about him off the bat: He's tough. This kid is made of stuff stronger than stone. He's utterly terrified right now, but he's worked up the courage to ask me, a complete stranger, for something.

"Sure, kid. Uh, why don't you come in?"

"O-okay," he says with a hitched breath like he might be ready to cry again. He looks a little relieved, actually, to be let in. Poor fucking thing. Leaving him outside like a dog on a porch.

"My sh-shoes off?" he says from behind his soother (at least I'm pretty sure that's what he's said), then taking a big sniffle. I did just clean the floors Friday after work.

"Yeah, you take those off, I'll get you a Kleenex." I don't know how old the kid is, or what he's capable of, but he doesn't ask for help, he just sits his little self down and gets to work. God. He's so tiny. I think football's out for him.

I grab him a Kleenex from the closest washroom and when I get back I can see he's struggling, he hasn't got either shoe off and the note-diaper combo is getting in his way. "You want help?"

He looks his sad little face up at me and nods. First I remove the envelope, which is for me anyway, and diaper then I take his shoes off carefully, worried I'm going to break him. I'm not the best with ones this little, but I do look after my nephews, occasionally as an absolute last resort for Sam and Gabe, something I do not take offence to. They'd be better off leaving the twins with a plant than with me.

He sniffles again and that's my cue to wipe. After the shoe debacle, I figure I'd better help him with that too. "Here," I say when he's wiped clean. "Keep this, you might need it."

He takes the Kleenex and nods sadly; he's still shivering. It's warm in the house, but if he was out there all night, he's going to have trouble warming up. In classic Dean style, I don't think it over, I just do. I grab the kid up and hold him against my naked chest, which he curls into on instinct, so grateful for a little kindness. I start walking through the house and back up to my bedroom to get him a blanket.

As I'm walking, he looks up at me with those sad, blue eyes and there's something else there. If I didn't know better, I'd say the kid was a million years old. There's so much soul in them; I picture him being wise beyond on his years. But there's something else there too and I've seen it from Sammy growing up enough to recognize what it is: Hero worship. Whether I deserved it or not Sam's always looked up to me, tagging along after me, wanting to be like me; looking at me like this kid is now. "It's true," he decides out loud, taking the soother out of his mouth again.

"What is?" I'm fucking intrigued. This kid has something about him; reminds me a little of Sammy.

"You're real an' my very own."

Wait. What? "Your very own what kid?"

"My very own, Daddy."

Okay, whoa. Maybe I should read that fucking letter. I can't break the damn kid's heart though. It will crush him; it's going to crush him. I invited him in to warm him up and get him a Kleenex…perhaps a bite to eat, but I gotta find this kid's parents, a grandmother, something—anything's better than me.

Before I break the news, I decide to read the letter and before I read the letter I need to get him warm. I put him on my bed, on the side I slept on and not that slime ball Rick and wrap him in my duvet. "You get warm, understood? You don't look so good."

He nods frantically, wanting to please me his 'very own Daddy.' Fuck.

I open the envelope. There's a bunch of stuff inside, but I skip everything and start with what looks like a letter. It's in the same crude handwriting as my name on the front. Jesus. Even I can write better than this; whoever wrote it should stick solely to typing. It reads:  
_Dean Winchester? Hope I got the right house. I'm pretty sure this kid is yours. Least that's what Lisa said. She committed suicide three months ago; she had severe depression. Anyhow, her mom can't look after the kid, she's not doing well either and doesn't have the money. I don't know how much you know about Lisa, but she's got no siblings, and her dad died when she was little. There's just me, Nick, and I can't do it. I tried for three months, but I suck. Figured he was better off with his real dad anyway. I left you with a diaper, he'll need to be changed soon, but not much else. He hasn't been doing real good since his mom died. Probably better he doesn't have reminders._  
Good Luck,  
Nick

Then in more scribbled writing under that, probably added after he wrote his note:  
_I knocked a bunch of times with no answer. You should get a doorbell._

And you shouldn't leave fucking kids on a porch in the middle of the fucking night! I crumple the letter up in a ball and huck it across the room, the kid, possibly my kid, jumps.

"Y-you is mad?" he says.

"Yeah, I'm mad."

"Why come?"

Childishly, my brain automatically comes up with the response, because it's fun. See? I'm not fit to be a Father. I've got the sense of humor of a teenager. I take a calming breath. The letter says that this 'Nick' is not even sure I'm the kid's father; it's probably just some mistake and it will all get sorted.

"Because life's full of shit people, that's why."

He simply nods like I've just imparted wisdom unto him, or something. I need to come clean. "I don't know if I'm your daddy, kid."

He scowls at me and I'm surprised, he seemed so agreeable a moment ago. "Are," he insists.

I sigh, there's no convincing him otherwise just now. "You getting warm like I told you?"

"Yes, Daddy," he says stubbornly. Well, stubborn is a Winchester trait for sure, so that's something. I realize I haven't even asked the kid his name, nor did 'Nick' mention it.

"What's your name, bud?"

"M-michael," he says with a big sniffle. "Michael Inchester."

Fuck, _Inchester_? "Do you mean Winchester?"

"S'what I said. Michael Inchester."

I'd be laughing at how cute he is if I wasn't freaking the fuck out. I peek inside the manila envelope and rifle through what's in there, thank god I come up with a birth certificate. The hair on my arms stands on end. The kid's full name is, Michael Dean Winchester. His mom used my name when she named him. If I was that important to this woman, that she'd put my name into her son's, why didn’t she ever tell me I had a son? _Whoa, getting ahead of yourself there Winchester._ Maybe it was just one of those trophy fucks gone wrong. I was probably this Lisa's dream fuck, but since I make it pretty clear I'm only in for the night, she walked away from our night together idolizing me. When she got knocked up and gave birth to this rug rat, I was still on her mind, so insanely she named him after me. Yeah, that's what happened. Had to of. I wish I could fucking remember this Lisa; I wish I could remember anyone I slept with for that matter. It says he was born May second, two thousand twelve. He just turned three and he's got the same birthday as my brother. That last part is icing to this creepy fucking cake.

He sniffles again and I decide the kid, Michael, is fucking sick. I reach out to feel his head. "You need to sleep. Lay down and close your eyes."

"Bu-but, don' leave. Please Daddy."

"Okay, but you have to promise to sleep," I lie. As soon as this kid's out, I'm going downstairs to call Sam. He'll know what to fucking do; he's like the Batman of lawyers.

"Will," he says stuffing his pacifier in and closing his eyes right away. I rub his back for him like I used to do to Sam when he wasn't well. This little guy's breaking my heart with his sad story and his sniffling.

As soon as I determine he's out, I grab a shirt and my cell phone, leave the room and call Sam. "Sammy? You've got to get over here, quick."

"Dean? Everything okay?"

"No it's fucking not. Get over here, now."

"All right, all right. But I've got Matty—Gabe's at the grocery store with Logan."

Crap, I think Matty's the rambunctious one. "Yeah, just get your ass over here."

~BDD

"Uncle Dean!" Matt shouts too loud and comes barreling in the door at me. The twins are four…I think.

"Shh, bud, there's someone asleep upstairs, but it's good to see you," I say plucking him up and squeezing him. I let him back down and he runs to the T.V. He knows Uncle Dean's house enough to know it's the place you come to watch cartoons. "Heya Sammy."

Sam raises his eyebrows. "Someone's upstairs?"

"Yeah, that's what you're here to see."

"Jeez Dean, you kill someone?"

"I already said someone was sleeping upstairs, not dead."

"You said it to Matt. It's what we tell them the bugs are doing if we see them dead in the house. Sleeping."

Hmm. Noted. I might need that.

"The person in my bed is alive."

"In that case, I don't need to see your latest sexual escapade Dean. I hope you demanded I come over here for something better than that."

"Oh, it's better," I promise. If nothing else, it's going to be worth it to see the look on his face.

"All right. Let's see it. Matt," he calls. "Uncle Dean and I will be upstairs for just a second."

"Kay, Papa."

When we get up the stairs, I open the door just a crack so Sam can peek in. His eyes go wider than Grant's tomb. "Dean! Why is there a child in your bed?"

Michael's eyes pop open, his little mouth pouts and he starts to cry. "Way to go dick," I grouch at him. I open the door all the way and go inside, he reaches for me; I pick him up. Already used to it, he curls into my torso, latching on like a little koala bear.

"Sorry, bud. Sammy's a dick," I explain. Michael glares at my brother, sucking on his pacifier, no longer crying, but the last tears are still sliding down his face. I laugh because it's kinda fun that he's scowling at Sam like he is, like he's on my side no matter what.

"I'm sorry little fellow, but you're not his usual meal—okay big brother, explain."

I tell him about finding Michael outside and the letter; I let him read it and look over his birth certificate. "And I'm pretty sure he's sick, also, he might need a diaper change. I thought you could do that part."

"Dean. What if he is your son? You can't call me every time he needs changed."

"Please little brother? I put you through law school."

"Are you ever going to stop using that against me?"

"Is it ever going to stop working?"

"No. Fine, give him here."

But Michael does not want Sam. When Sam tries to pull him from me he screams. I didn't think something so small could have lungs like that. Sam backs off right away. "That's funny. He didn't do that with me," I say baffled. Michael's crying now, into my torso.

"D-do-on't lee-ave me, Daddy."

Sam looks at me with his scolding face. "Um, yeah. He does that—I tried to get him to stop, but he won't. He's sort of attached to me already, I guess."

"Y'think? It's kinda cute actually. Y'know Dean, he's the spitting image of me as a kid."

"So? Kids are supposed to look like their parents. Maybe he's your kid then—'Lisa' got the wrong Winchester." And I know, I thought so too, but I don't feeling like admitting to that just now.

"Not my Daddy," Michael insists grabbing to me tighter.

"Holy crap, he is attached to you and that's not true. Often kids can look like an Aunt or Uncle."

Since when did he become the fucking expert? "I thought you went to law school, not, I dunno, science class."

"Wow, you must be frazzled if you can't even come up with a proper comeback."

"Just tell me what to do Sam."

"First we should get a paternity test, to see if he's even yours, but let me double check with Ellen at work, she deals more in family law than I do, she can tell us how to do this right and…do you really want to know all the details? Or do you just want me to do everything and involve you when absolutely necessary?"

My brother knows my 'I've checked out' look. "I did put you through law school…"

"Which I am very grateful for. So change him and we should go."

"Go?" I say. Michael takes another big sniffle, Sam hands me a Kleenex, I get Michael to blow.

"Thank-you, Daddy," he says.

"Man that's freaking weird," Sam says. "You're going to need more diapers and other stuff. When's the last time he ate?"

"What? Why do I need stuff?"

Sam laughs at me. "It's going to take some time for us to figure this out, where did you think he was going to stay? Outside?"

"He can't stay here," I whisper covering his ears.

"I'd offer our place, but he won't even let me touch him Dean."

"Don't you remember the time I looked after Matt and Logan's fish while you all went away?"

"What? I never asked you to take care of the fish."

"Exactly. Because it would have been dead when you got home!"

"Don't be silly, Dean. Have you forgotten, you pretty much raised me? Dad was never around and when he was, he was too tired to do anything with me—you were like, my stand in Dad and look at me, I'm a lawyer."

"Yeah, but I had Dad to fall back on if I fucked up. This is all on me."

He shakes his head and starts walking out of the bedroom ignoring my internal crisis. "C'mon. He can use Logan's car seat in my car."

Shit. Now I've gotta go buy kid stuff and, "wait! Sammy, wait. You gotta help me, I know shit about diaper changing."

Sam comes back, he's laughing his ass off. "Can I film this?"

"I thought you wanted to be around for your children's graduation from university?"

"Okay, okay. It's easy, just lie him down on the bed. Do you have wipes?"

"Huh?"

"I'll take that as a no. But you said there was a diaper right?"

"Yeah, here," I say pulling it off the nightstand.

"Lay him down and pull his pants off then slip the diaper under the old diaper, I'll grab a cloth with warm water."

Okay, sounds simple enough. Michael lets me lay him down, he trusts me way too fucking much and I remove the large baggy pants. I wonder why he doesn't have clothes his size? I don't know why, but I feel like punching someone over it. By the time Sam's back, I've got my task complete and am pretty proud of myself—that seemed painless.

"Now undo the old diaper."

I do and expect the worst, but it doesn't look bad. "It's just wet, you're lucky. Wipe him off good with this," Sam says and hands me the cloth.

Sam gives me further instruction, as I wipe, about how to clean his willy off properly and around the back. "Pee gets everywhere, you don't want it collecting in places."

"Ew. His birth certificate says he's three, shouldn’t he be out of diapers by now?"

"Every kid's different. The twins were about his age when we potty trained them."

"Joy. What next?"

When he's freshly diapered, I feel kind of accomplished. "Aha! Piece of cake."

Sam rolls his eyes. "Just put his pants back on Super Dad."

"Those things are like a million sizes too big Sam."

"We'll get him some clothes at the store, just roll them up or something for now."

I don’t like it, but he's right, I don't want to take him to the store in just a diaper.

I put him down and he doesn't complain, but he sticks by my side all the way down the stairs. "T.V. off Matthew. We're going out again," Sam says.

"Kay, Papa," he says, but he doesn't actually turn the T.V. off, Sam has to do it. Matt runs over to Michael and me. "Who're you?" Matt asks Michael.

"Michael Inchester."

Sam almost laughs, but he bites his hand just in time. "I'm Matt and that's my dad," Matt explains, pointing at Sam.

"I got one too," he says pointing at me. "Jus' got him today."

Sam and I both fucking wince at the same time as both our hearts fucking break. This kid's killing me. I ruffle his hair. "C'mon, let's get your shoes on."

"I can do it, Daddy," he says running to his shoes.

"Um, okay." He couldn't get them off though, isn't putting them on a little harder? I don't say it though. I do see him watching Matthew put his shoes on to the best of his ability and Sam watching the pair, carefully. Michael clearly cannot put his shoes on by himself and it's becoming painful to watch.

"Matthew, sweetie, you need my help?" Sam asks.

"Please, Papa," he says.

Seeing this, Michael looks up at me. "Help me too, Daddy?"

I bite my lip and nod. "Sure, sport."

And it's stupid I know, but after peeking over and watching Sam do it so flawlessly, I'm worried the kid's going to find me inadequate. I try to mimic Sam's technique by pulling out the tongue and twisting it gently onto Michael's little, socked foot. "You taught me how to put on shoes Dean," Sam points out, probably sensing my nervousness; he knows me too well.

"I did?"

"Yep. Sure did. And look at me, now I'm a lawyer."

"Are you gonna keep saying that?" I push at his leg. He smirks instead of answering, so I take that as a yes.

Michael's happy as a clam having his 'Daddy' help him put shoes on then he reaches up for me and curls into me again. "I'm no expert Sam, but he seems tired."

"Yeah," he says, brushing Michael's dark hair off his forehead, which he lets Sam do and doesn't freak out about. I guess so long as Sam's not trying to take him from me, he's okay with touching. "We'll be quick. He probably needs food too. I've got a few snacks in the car."


	2. Shopping Centre Fun Time

Sam's 'car' is actually a pretty snazzy SUV. Both him and Gabe have vehicles and they have two car seats per vehicle to make life with twins easier. Believe me they can afford it. Not only is Sam a lawyer, Gabe is a high profile director and producer. He travels a lot, but they have two nannies. When they are home, they spend as much time with the twins as possible.

Car seats baffle the fuck out of me; I look at the thing worried.

"I'm going to have to adjust it a bit for him, so you get a pass on this one, but can you ask if that's okay? He might freak."

"Sammy's helping you with the car seat, 'cause I suck." I'm not really the asking kind of guy. He seems okay with it though. He does watch me the whole time, as Sam fiddles with the straps in a way that looks like he's solving the Matrix. Fuck that looks complicated.

"I think we've got enough friends with kids that if I asked around, I could come up with a car seat that's not being used and not expired you can borrow," he says hopping into the driver's seat as I hop in the passenger side.

"Car seats expire?"

"Yeah. Bit of a money grab if you ask me. I mean, as long as you don't let'em get too old, but then again, lots of stupid people out there so they decided to start policing it."

"Do you really think I need a car seat? I mean…" I leave it left unsaid that I probably won't have him long, knowing he's carefully paying attention to me. "…it won't look cool in the Impala."

"Does that mean you're taking the day off tomorrow?"

"What? I never take Mondays off," I say insulted.

"Then how you going to get him to whatever childcare you have planned for him?"

"You know I don't have childcare planned for him, ass."

"Here, give them some of these," he says handing me a bag of grapes. "And yeah, I know you don't, but I'm already thinking ahead for you big brother. You can leave him at our place in the morning with Tessa and Rachel, but you're going to have to drive him over, for that you'll need a car seat."

"Yeah, yeah." I give Matt a four year old sized handful of grapes, so about three, but Michael's hands look like they can only handle one at a time. "Here big guy, eat that."

He nods accepting the fat, grape and pulls out his soother. Poor thing has to sniffle again since there's more snot running down his nose. "You gotta Kleenex, Sammy? Guess I shoulda brought some." Man I suck. Super parent Sam grabs me a Kleenex from the console. I reach back, awkwardly and wipe him off.

"So do you have two daddies, like me? Or a Mommy and a Daddy?" Matty unhelpfully asks. Fuck. The note said he wasn't doing so good after his mom died, which only leads me to believe he misses his mom like hell, I know I did. Both Sam and I wait on baited breath for Michael's answer.

"Mama went away," he says in a voice that's a thousand years old. "Daddy?" he says.

Fuck again. I know he's talking to me, but I feel like answering is leading him on. Trying to explain it to him hasn't worked thus far, so I decide to worry about it later. I swallow, but my mouth is still dry when I say, "yeah?"

"I has another Daddy?"

Fucked if I know. He might have another Daddy out there, meaning other than me and I don't know what to say. Sam nudges me, enjoying this way too much. "Your line, Brad Pitt."

"Yeah, I know fuckface," I whisper. "Um, just one I think," I finally tell him.

Thank Christ that satisfies him. "Just one," he repeats for Matthew as if Matthew couldn't already hear me.

"Fuck, what am I going to do Sam?" I whisper after I give them more grapes.

Sam shakes his head. "For once, I don't know, but one thing at a time. First on that list is shopping centre fun!"

"Shopping centres are not fun, 'specially with kids." That much I know.

"Think of it this way Dean. Whether you're his daddy or not, he thinks you are and as far as he's concerned, this is his first date with Daddy. No matter what we do there, you're going to make his week."

~BDD~

The shopping centre is a madhouse as expected. "We can avoid going to too many places if we just head over to Kid Galore. They sell everything from diapers to kid furniture, clothes and toys."

Less places? Music to my fucking ears. "Lead the way, Sammy."

Michael lets Sam take him out of the car seat Rubix Cube and sets him down. Michael follows me around to the side of the car staying close. Once Matt's out, we all walk the short distance across the parking lot to the mall. Sam takes Matt's hand and I wonder if I should take Michael's. Probably. He's having a hard time walking in those oversized pants that are too long. I rolled them up, but they're quickly becoming unrolled as he walks. Part of me just wants to pick him up, but another part wants to let him do it himself. He's a determined, stoic little thing. Huh. That reminds me of me. So I let him walk, until he eventually does trip, everything but his face smacking into the pavement. Sam freezes, Matt stares, I jump to action as usual and scoop him up whether it's the right thing to do or not.

"Upsie daisy, big guy," I say as I start brushing of his little hands. They're so small. He looks at me as if I'm supposed to tell him whether he should cry or not. "You're okay." I think it's best this kid toughens up; who knows what life has in store for him? He sniffles a bit and sucks his soother faster, but no crying. I put him down again once we're in the store, but this time, I crouch down to roll up his pants from the waistband.

"We're getting you some better stuff."

Sam's smiling at me. "Um, Dean? Maybe Michael's better off in the cart, for now anyway."

I check on him; he looks fine now. "He's okay. I'm not going to be one of those helicopter parents."

"Oh, you're a parent now are you?"

My face heats. "You know what I mean."

He wants to make fun of me more, but he leaves it, grabbing a cart. "Okay boys, we always stay in sight of the cart," Sammy says to both. "Or you go in the cart. Capiche?"

"I know Papa," Matt says. Michael doesn’t say anything.

"They listen to that?" I ask.

"Not really, but I'm hoping one day. I think you're good with Michael for now as in I don't think he'll stray too far. He looks terrified you're going to leave him and he keeps checking for where you are. But we don't know anything about him—he's still three and probably easily distracted. Keep two eyes on him, Dean."

"Yeah, yeah. What we buying?"

As it turns out, half of the fucking store. Sam tosses all kinds of junk in the cart and it's all staring to look expensive. I mean, I make a decent wage at the shop. I've got some money saved. Dad left us the house, with a little left on the mortgage, but after Sam finished school, I worked my ass off to pay the last bit on the house, as well and finally managed to pay it up last year. Sam refused to take any of the house and insisted it be put in my name. What I'm trying to say is I'm not poor, I've got stuff, but I'm not rich either and my money's going to get spent pretty fast if this is a regular thing. "You sure I need all of this? We don't even know how long he's staying," I whisper.

"It's a few weeks at least. I'm getting the minimum Dean. Why don't you take him over to the clothing section and see what fits him?"

In other words, get out of his hair so he can spend all my money. "Yeah, fine. C'mon Michael."

The only way I can tell Michael's eager to come with me, is by his quick response, he's yet to fucking smile. "Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Take some Kleenex with you," he says pulling some out of his pocket. Shit. Right. I take it from him and wipe Michael's ever dripping nose with it. "And Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Clothes are the other way."

God damn. I turn us around.

I do find the clothes, but I've got no idea what to pick, so I consult with Michael. "See anything you like?"

He shrugs and turns his palms up. Gosh. The kid sure is cute. And I know I've said this like a million fucking times already, but he's so tiny, makes me want to pick him up and shield him from everything. Crap. Guess you can't rely on the three year old's opinion. I decide pants are a safe bet, since I want to get those huge pants off him, as soon as fucking possible, so I go to what looks like the boy's section (it's the one absent of pink) and look for pants. I find some, but I don't know what size. I don't feel comfortable asking anyone either, since I don't want to explain my situation ('cause how do you explain this situation) and why he's wearing pants like he is, so I decide to take the horrible goliath pants off of him and try stuff on him. I hold up some grey jogging style pants to his legs, looks like they might fit, and slip them on him. He's very cooperative.

They seem big though. I unzip the large hoodie he's wearing, and take of the also large shirt (I bet it was idiot Nick who dressed him) so I can get a better look. Yeah. The waist seems baggy. I check the size and move a size down.

"Aha! Fits," I say feeling like I discovered fire. "You like those?"

He nods, still sucking his soother and there's more goo dripping out of his nose, so I wipe with the Kleenex in my pocket and get him to blow. That's when big boobs-blonde hair, stops with her kid in a stroller. "Well isn't he the cutest? What's his name?"

Michael moves closer to me, scared; without even thinking about it, I kiss his little forehead and secure an arm around his shoulders. That's the first time I see him smile. It's brief and it's behind his soother, but it's magic and I want to see it again. "Michael," I tell her, pushing the hair off his forehead, he feels kind of hot.

"He gets his looks from his daddy for sure."

"Thanks," I say proudly. I notice there's a little girl in the stroller she's pushing. This woman is totally putting out the vibe and so not the kind of woman that usually hits on me, I'm seeing one of the pros to having a kid.

"You're really good with him. Your wife is a lucky lady."

"Don't have a wife," I deadpan.

"We're in luck then, because I don't have a husband. How about we set up a play date?"

She's a clever one. Using the term play date like it's a kid thing she's talking about, but she means us. "Here gorgeous, call me," I say handing her a card from my wallet. I don't bother getting her name. I don't need those long and it hurts my brain trying to remember.

"Mechanic?" she says.

"Yep."

"Hot. I'll call."

Sam walks up with the cart; it's way too fucking full; he's shaking his head. "Your penis never takes a day off."

"Neither does yours, it just does the same job."

"Okay, that's enough. Did you even find him any clothes?"

"Yeah. I figured out what size he is in pants." I grab a couple more of the same kind and add them to the mountain of shit.

"Let's get him more than that Dean."

Sam figures out his shirt and jacket size and we get him an assortment of shirts, hoodies, shorts and a couple of jackets. We also find him a little pair of sandals and runners. The ones he was wearing looked pretty worn. I kind of feel like just hucking all the shit he came with. "Have you checked his diaper?"

"We just changed him."

"They fill those things up quick. You know, scratch that he's fine for now; but reminds me, we should get him water and some juice; we'll worry about the diaper later. Why don't you take him over to the food court and get him something? Take Matty with you and I'll take care of all this."

"Here, take my bank card," I say taking out my wallet.

"I got a lot of crap Dean. Let me get it."

"Like hell you are." I shove the card in his hand.

"Stubborn. Fine."

"Aren't you going to ask me for the passcode?" I say as he starts to walk away.

"As if I need to, you're kind of predictable Dean."

"Oh yeah? What is it then, hot shot?"

"Mom's birthday. Well? Am I right?"

"Just get out of here."

He laughs. "Leaving."

I decide just to pick Michael up. I had to put the stupid ass clothes back on him and he's not looking so good. I take Matthew's hand. "Where we goin' Uncle Dean?"

"To get juice. Sound good?"

"Rad."

"Rad? Where'd you learn that?"

"You say it lots, Uncle Dean."

Oh. Guess I do. We get to the food court and I grab some drink boxes from a place and sit them down. "Here you go bud," I say setting up the drink box for him then doing Matt's for him too. I don't ask and just pull the soother he's been sucking on all day out of his mouth and his thick, sick kid saliva comes with it. I use my other thumb to wipe his mouth and wipe that hand on my pant leg. The kid's looking up at me in awe again and it's making me feel uncomfortable. "Drink up big guy." He starts sucking madly—he was fucking thirsty.

"So, where'd you get him, Uncle Dean?" Matt says between sips.

Crap. "What do you mean?"

"Babies have to grow somewhere, Daddy says, did you grow him?"

Figures Gabe would tell him something like that. "Um, yeah. It was time to pick him." Now Michael's a strawberry.

"Cool," he says. This one definitely takes after Gabriel. I mean, technically they both take after Sam. They used Sam's baby making gunk this time with a surrogate, but Matt is so much like Gabe it's ridiculous. And I usually only remember which is which when I'm with them. Since I can see this is the more out going one, by process of elimination, I know Logan's gotta be the Sam personality clone.

"How's the juice Michael?" I ask. He's been quiet, watching the exchange between Matthew and I.

"Like it," he stops drinking long enough to say.

"Why's he so small?" Matt asks. It's an innocent kid question, but I wish he hadn't of said it in front of Michael for some reason.

Everyone's small to the twins, they're pretty tall for their age already since Sam is a giant. "'Cause we gotta feed him what we're feeding you, then he'll grow some more."

"Oh."

"Done, Daddy," Michael says holding his hand, palm up, out for his soother. I hand it to him and it goes right back in this mouth.

"Logan still has his thing like that too. Those are for babies, Uncle Dean."

For some reason, I'm offended on behalf of Michael even though Michael doesn't seem to care. "Hey. Cool it on the name-calling. That's not nice Matthew."

"Sorry," he says, not sounding that sorry. The little shit. Does all of that really start so young? I can't fucking remember.

Sam strolls up empty handed except for my bank card. "I put everything in the car."

"What was the damage?"

Sam winces. "Five hundred."

"Five hundred? Sammy."

"I told you I'd pay."

"Forget it, we should get going."

"I was thinking Dean, how about come over for the day? We can feed the kids lunch and Michael can hang out with Logan and Matt; we can get him all sorted there. It's a kid environment, maybe we'll figure some stuff out about him."

"Yeah, whatever, so long as we do something about his illness—he looks like shit."

"On it. I bought some kid's Tylenol and some other stuff. We'll have him right as rain."

~BDD~

As soon as we get to Sam and Gabe's, I'm hell bent on changing him, but of course Gabe is there to stop us. "Whoa Winchesters, what the? Sam, did we have another kid you didn't tell me about?"

"Told you he looks like me Dean."

"I don't have time for you two. I gotta get him changed and hopped up on drugs."

"I'll bring you stuff Dean, go into the guest bedroom and strip him off. We'll explain everything over lunch, babe," he says to Gabe. "Where's Logan?" Is the last thing I hear, 'cause I'm gone.

Michael pops his soother out soon as we're alone. "Daddy?"

"Yeah?" I stand him on the bed, unzip the giant hoodie and start taking it off.

"Doesn't feel nice."

"I know big guy. We're going to take care of all that." Fucking Sam better not be kissing his husband and hurry the fuck up. "Sammy!" I yell out the door, just to make sure. I don't get an answer, so I assume he's back out to the car. I start stripping Michael of the too big clothing, which I succinctly throw in the little garbage can by the bed. The clothes are even too big for the garbage can, but I don't fucking care.

I hate the way Michael's looking at me, like I'm his life line. He's putting all his eggs into my fucking basket and I don't know if my basket is weaved together tight enough for this, it makes me fucking nervous and more stressed out. " _Sammy!_ "

"Right here, Dean."

Sam excuses my bellowing. He knows I'm just freaking the fuck out and arguing with me at this point is only likely to result in him getting his head bit off. He starts pulling stuff out of bags for me and passes me a new diaper after he takes it out of the package, but this time he hands me what he calls a baby wipe. "Michael's not a baby," I say as I get to work wiping him down. He's just wet again. Probably because he hasn't eaten much. When was the last time he ate?

"I know Dean, that's just what they're called. Do you want me to call them something else?"

"Ass wipes works just fine."

"Wow, you're a pro at that already Dean."

"Not into being patronized right now, Sam. Pass me more shit."

"I'm not patronizing you, you're a natural," he says handing me the pants I found for him. "I hope this kid turns out to be yours. This is good for you."

I glare at him. "Well it's not a fucking vote."

Michael's eyes on me, begging me to help him feel better are making me furious and overwhelmed. "Dean," Sam says softly putting a hand on my arm. "It's just a cold, he'll be fine. Put this t-shirt and this sweatshirt on him and I'll grab out the thermometer. I think he's a bit fevered."

I nod feeling marginally calmed, but I can't speak I just do. I put the shirt on him and have to wipe his nose again, between that and putting the sweatshirt on him. When he's all together, I scoop him up and hold him close to me. He looks ready to pass out.

"Michael? I'm going to stick something in your ear, is that okay with you?"

"Just do it, Sammy," I say not wanting to stand around waiting for a million questions to the tiny person. I want answers. Now.

Sam does, 'just do it,' twice actually. "Well?"

"It's a little high, but not too bad. I'm going to give him some Kid's Tylenol anyway and we'll rub some Vick's on his chest. We've got soup broth in the freezer we can feed the kids for lunch."

"A little less talking and a little more action, Sam."

I'm being a demanding asshole, I know it, but Sam just smiles, used to me. "For someone who's not interested in…you care an awful lot."

"Sammy," I warn.

"Okay. Shutting up."

He hands me the Tylenol. "How much of this crap?"

"Fill it to the one, that will be good for now."

When I have the stuff ready to go, Michael choses now to start becoming difficult. "Nooo," he says shaking his head into my chest. "Doesn't want that."

"Well you're having it kid. Open up, now."

I think that fucking scares him, which wasn't my intent, but I feel fucking panicked to get the medicine in him, so he can start getting better because I don't think I can look at those eyes like that for much longer. I hope if he's better, it will bring some brightness to his pale face. My brash way works and he opens up, I squirt the Tylenol crap inside. "Mmmm…" he hums.

"See? It's good." It's probably loaded with sugar and crap.

"I has some more 'a that Daddy?"

I look at Sam; he shakes his head. "Later," I promise.

He doesn't like it anymore, I can tell, when we rub the Vicks on him, by reaching up under the t-shirt layer. I like the smell, personally, but I'm sure it's the texture he doesn't like on him. He fusses a bit, but that's all probably not willing to test me just yet. "Gabe's phoning around for you, trying to find you a car seat. When I drop you off later, I'll help you install it."

"Shouldn't be too hard. I think there's still stuff there from your car seat," I say knowing there is.

"Aw, you sentimental son of a gun. You kept it."

"Shut your pie-hole."

"Daddy?" says a little voice.

"Yeah?"

"I can sleep now?"

"Yeah big guy, close your eyes." He does.

"That's pretty good you know Dean."

"What is?"

"That he feels comfortable enough to fall asleep."

"Why wouldn’t he?"

"Because, it's clear he's not exactly had a lot of stability. His mom 'left' him via death and the only other person he knew abandoned him on a fucking porch." That makes Sam mad too. Good. We can find that asshole and kill him together. "I'd expect him to be afraid you're going to leave him too, and he is, I can tell that by the way he watches you, but he's still willing to fall asleep trusting you'll be here when he wakes up. You make him feel safe Dean."

"Way to pile more fucking guilt and stress on me, Sam. You're forgetting, I might not really be his dad," I whisper the last part. I'm pretty sure he's already out, but just in case.

Sam shrugs. "You can still be his dad Dean. I think you should keep him anyway and I know, I know, it's not a fucking vote, but seriously; you'd be good for each other."

"Okay, Dr. Phil. Let's just…can't we go somewhere more comfortable? For a small thing, he's already starting to get heavy." He's dead weight in my arms completely passed out.

"Yeah. Let's go out to the living room. I'll go grab a rocking chair, we still keep'em in the twin's room, Logan still likes to be rocked and we never got around to taking the other one out."

"Never got around to it? Or you're a sentimental sap?"

"Looks like I learned it from you," he smirks.

"Just go get the thing. My arms are going to fall off." They aren't really, I just want him to stop teasing me about that.

He knows. "Sure, big brother."


	3. Ironman

I know what burden looks like when I see it. Michael's had the whole world on his shoulders a long time. And I think Sam's right, he feels safe with me because as he sleeps, he sleeps soundly feeling for just a little while, he's able to unload all of that fucking burden.

I don't think he was physically abused. Every time I've taken clothes off of him, believe me, I fucking checked—that's the side of the world I think of—but I still think he was abused via neglect, perhaps unintentionally, if his mom really did suffer from depression. He's got some of the signs, I would fucking know.

Our dad didn't mean to, but he neglected Sam and I. I did everything I fucking could, so Sam didn't feel it much. Dad lost Mom horribly. She was raped and murdered. He had to deal with losing the love of his life and caring for his two young sons all at once. He never got the proper counseling he probably needed, even if he could of afforded it, it wasn't Dad to do something like that, so he never got over it; it broke him. But he did keep a roof over our heads and he did keep us fed and healthy. Bobby wasn't the only one to teach me about cars, Dad did that too; he loved us like crazy and I know that. He was just a man doing the best he could. Not that it didn't piss me off sometimes when he'd miss Sam's ball games because he had to work, or when he'd work graveyards at his second job and I had to watch over the whole house at eight, with four year old Sammy to take care of and be fucking scared someone was going to get us like they did Mom…but I forgave him that because I knew his heart was in the right place.

And that forgiveness came before I read his journal; when I read it, it completely absolved him for me. After he died, I found it. Took me a while to get up the courage to read it because I expected Dad to pop out of his grave and whoop my ass for it, but I finally did and it broke my heart. Dad was in pain all the time and he had no one to listen and through all that, he still made sure we were looked after physically even if not emotionally.

No. I don't blame him one bit, but I still recognize that I became a parent when I was six and that I've had to suck up a ton over the years and carry the same weight on my shoulders that I see in Michael. "That's it big guy," I say quiet, hoping Sam and Gabe in the next room don't fucking hear me. "Let it all go. Dean wrote the fucking book on carrying burden, I'll carry yours for you too."

He sleeps on as I rock him and listen to the sounds of Gabe and Sam being parents in the next room. "If you want to help Daddy, you can," Gabriel says to one of the twins. "But you have to ask and not grab things outta Daddy's hands—you might get bit."

One of the twins laughs. "You wouldn't bite me Daddy."

"He bites, I've seen it," Sam answers.

Poor kids don't stand a chance with those two for Dads. They make me laugh. I've been rocking Michael an hour now while Sam and Gabe make lunch. Sam pops his head in. "We're going to have to feed the boys now, he still out cold?"

"Yeah. You sure I shouldn't put him down, Sammy? Wouldn't he be more comfortable in a bed?"

"You can, but he might freak when he wakes up alone."

"So? Kids freak about everything."

"True, but this is a bit different Dean and more fragile than a kid who's lived a life like Matthew and Logan have had the luxury of living."

"Fine, I'll stay with him a bit longer, but my arm's starting to fall asleep. He sleeps any longer, I'm laying him down."

"All right, all right, and uh…I picked this up, though you could give it to him, you did pay for it."

He brings the little stuffed thing into view. It's a baby stuffed Ironman, which would be cool, but it's too fucking cute to be Ironman. Ironman should not be cute. "What am I supposed to do with that stupid thing?"

"Give it to him. He'll love it."

I refuse to take it though, so Sam leaves it on the end table beside me. Who does Sam think he is? At least get a cool toy.

It's not long after that, Michael starts to stir. He lays there a minute, then rubs his eyes sitting back and looks at me, the way he takes a breath and sags makes it look like he's sighing relief. There's a bit of crap in his right eye, so I use my thumb to wipe it away, he blinks up at me. "You feel better?"

He nods looking around the room, probably assessing his surroundings. I started doing that too, pretty young. His eyes land on that god damned stuffed toy and I can tell he's interested in it even if he's trying not to be. It's red and the gold parts of Ironman's armor are shiny. That's right, fucking shiny. What an abomi-fucking-nation. He points at it with one finger, the what's that in his eyes, but he doesn't say it. "Oh that? Uh, that's for you."

Against my will, I pick it up and hand it to him, his eyes go wide as saucers. He accepts it with both hands. "Me?" he says from behind his soother.

"Yep."

The large, face cracking, smile I receive is worth every second of humiliation I'll experience later when Sam finds out I gave it to him and that he was fucking right and never lets me live it down. He squishes the thing to his chest and holds it there, twisting himself back and forth. He's smiling so hard, he has to hold his soother in with his teeth, but eventually he pulls it out. "Never had this before, Daddy."

"Well then, it's decided, I'm buying you a whole fucking truckload." I have to wipe at my damn eyes. What's this kid doing to me? I never even cried when my nephews were born and I love them to pieces.

"Just one, Daddy," he informs me.

"Oh? You only need one Ironman?"

He nods.

"Guess that guy is pretty cocky, I don't think he would like competing with more of himself anyway." It's a joke for myself, because I don't think he understands it, but I don't think he really cares what I'm saying, so long as my attention is focused on him.

"Okay big guy, you need food. And if you don't, I do." I carry him to the kitchen and he pops his soother back in his mouth, Ironman clutched firmly in his fists, head on my shoulder.

There's a telltale gleam in Sam's eyes as soon as he sees what Michael's got. "Not a word, Sam. Not one word."

"Who me? I wasn't going to say anything." He gets up to get some stuff for Michael and me.

Like hell he wasn't going to say anything. I sit Michael in a chair beside me, Logan is to his left. "Who's he, Uncle Dean?" Logan asks.

Thankfully Matt answers. "That's Michael. Uncle Dean grew him then picked him. I think that's how it works—is that right Daddy?"

"Close enough my little pad wan."

"The stuff you teach your kids—they're going to grow up to be con-artists."

"I think you mean storytellers, Dean," Gabe says. "We like to encourage creativity. My son will be the next George Lucas."

"Sure Gabe."

Sam sets some soup broth before Michael and a grill cheese sandwich. I get some other kind of sandwich with meat in it. I've been so distracted by this whole 'a kid's been left on my porch' thing, I haven't even thought about eating, which is fucking bizarre for me. I only get one bite in on my food, when I realize Michael doesn't seem to be able to fucking maneuver a spoon for soup. The kid's got no dexterity, but he's trying so hard. He's laid his soother out beside him this time, Ironman still firmly gripped with a whole arm around him and his soup spoon held too far down the handle, with palm facing up instead of down.

My stomach growls, but I put my sandwich down. "Let me help you, kid."

Michael looks around to see what the other kids are doing. They're not being helped by their parents. "Can do it, Daddy."

Fuck. I hear Sam and Gabe stifle laughs. "Take his shirts off Dean, least that way, soup only gets on him and the floor."

Good idea. I take his spoon and Ironman away, whether he likes it or not, and I remove his t-shirt and sweatshirt. He kneels up in his chair this time and resumes holding his spoon in his fucked up way, feeding himself soup, which does get more on his chest than in his mouth. He seems content though, so I decide not to worry about it and resume eating my monster sized Dean sandwich. Michael notices mine's different and points to it. "You want some of mine? I don't know if your mouth can fit around it, you gotta grow a bit more first."

"It can Daddy."

"Aw, he wants to be like you Dean," Sam says unhelpfully.

"Okay big guy take a bite."

He opens his mouth big, but as predicted his mouth doesn't fit it; his teeth do gain purchase to some of the bread and meat in the middle and he gets enough in his mouth to feel accomplished.

"I never thought I'd see the day, Dean Winchester would share his food. Bravo kid," Gabriel says to Michael. But Michael's not interested in anything but my sandwich. "More?"

"Okay, but I'm feeding it to you, you're not choking on my watch tough guy." I break pieces off for him, and like a little bird, he opens his mouth to accept them from my fingers. My chair ends up angled toward him so I can feed him better and the kid fucking surprises me by eating half of my monster Dean sandwich.

"I don’t need to see a paternity test. That kid's yours. An appetite like that can only be inherited," Gabe says thinking he's real funny. Sam explained everything to him while they made lunch.

But I do wonder where the hell the kid packed it away?

He even ends up finishing his soup—though most of it is on the floor and his person—and I feel like I can relax a little bit because his color's already looking better. "Wow, that Tylenol sure works wonders, Sammy. He looks almost normal."

"It wasn't just the Tylenol, Dean."

My cheeks heat because he's probably referring to the 'care' we've been giving him, or some other sappy bullshit.

The kid's a mess though, so I grab him up by the armpits and bring him over to the sink to wipe him down with a cloth I know Sam uses for the twins. I clean off his mouth and hands in the same gruff manner I used to clean Sammy's and make sure to feel his head; he feels much cooler already, I still thank drugs for that.

"Do I gotta give him more of that crap?" I say setting him down. He heads straight back to the table to retrieve Ironman.

"In a couple more hours," Sam says getting up. "But you should give him some more juice. I'll send you home with some, we've got lots."

He makes Michael up a cup of juice in one of those gnarly cups with the spout on it. Sam never had shit like that, it was all old school for us. "Here you go, buddy. Drink up, okay?" Sam says.

Michael accepts the cup and drinks like a madman. He really seems to fucking like juice. "Boys? How about you take Michael to play in your toy room for a bit while we clean up?" Gabe suggests.

"Yeah!" one of them, Matthew I assume, shouts so loud both Michael and I wince together.

"I'll read him a story Uncle Dean," Mini-Sam assures me. No he can't actually read, I figured that one out recently, but he likes to think he can and he might well learn early.

"Okay, just let me put a shirt on him." I grab his shirt from the table and pop it over his head. He has to switch Ironman from arm to arm as I push them through the armholes. "Go play with Matt and Logan," I tell him.

He looks apprehensive. "I'm not going anywhere, here," I say and plug the soother into his mouth. "You'll be fine. Go on."

He nods at me looking a little scared, but like before, he gathers courage from somewhere and follows the kids. I sag a little relief when he goes, only because now I don't have to act like I'm amazing anymore. The kid's been here, what? six hours? But I can tell he thinks I'm something; I don't want him to find out I'm not.

"Here, Dean," Gabriel says slapping a cold one in my hand. "You look like you could use a load off. Kids are hard work."

I guzzle 'till at least the neck and take a huge swallow.

"I called Ellen Dean."

"On the weekend? Can't she sue you for that?"

"Well I wouldn't make a habit of it, and I was going to wait 'till tomorrow, but after seeing…well, never mind that, the important thing is, I'm impatient and wanted to see if there was anything we could do today, turns out there is."

"Yeah?"

"The paternity test is ordered online nowadays. You require what's called a legal one, because we'll need that for the legal documents if this goes further for you, but…"

"Spit it out, Sam."

He sighs. "That one has to be completed by your doctor, so it's going to take longer. I think you should order the standard one too, so we know sooner. And I know you're just going to yell at me, but I'll offer anyway—I'll pay for both, at least one—"

"How much?"

"The one you need is four hundred, it's another two hundred for the other."

Another six hundred bucks? That's eleven hundred in just one day. Fuck. I definitely can't miss work tomorrow. "Where do I order these tests?"

"Online. If you give me your credit card, I'll do it all for you."

I pull out my wallet and hand him my card. "So do you just want the one, or…?"

I want to know yesterday. "Both. Get them both."

Sam's smiling as he leaves the room. "I want to congratulate you, buddy, but it seems inapprops," Gabe says.

"Very 'inapprops,' dude. We don't know if he's mine."

"I'd put money on it. You two even move the fucking same. I wish I could have filmed your twin winces when Matt screeched."

"He doesn't look a thing like me."

He knocks me on the head. "Hell-oo? Anyone in there watching? Can't you see how much he resembles the twins? He looks like Sam and he does have some of your features."

"Did you make a career change I should know about?"

"No, but I have to look at a lot of camera angles and lighting and people's faces mixed in with all that—I'm telling you dude, that's your kid. And even if he's not, the kid likes you, adopt him anyway."

"Lots of people 'like' me, Gabe, it doesn't mean I should adopt them. I'm not a home for strays."

He frowns at me. Thankfully Sam comes back. "All done he says…hey, what happened?"

"Nothing. Your brother's just being your brother."

"Well, if he's my son, I'll take care of him—I take care of my own—but if he's not, it's better we find him his real Dad."

"His real dad could be terrible," Gabe points out.

"He could also be awesome. His real dad might be an astronaut, you don't know."

"Dean," Sam warns. He knows I'm implying I'm not awesome; he doesn't like when I talk about myself like that.

"Look if it were you and one of your sons was lost out there somewhere, worse, he didn't even know you, wouldn't you want to at least meet him? Get the chance to know him?"

They both let out a long breath because they know they would and nod. "We're getting ahead of ourselves," Sam says. "Because all of us have already fallen in love with Michael even if some of us," he pointedly looks at me, "don’t want to admit it. We'll do the paternity test and go from there."

It's a pleasant afternoon after that. We get into a regular conversation, about regular stuff and I polish off a second beer, before one of the twins comes running into the kitchen. "Uncle Dean! Uncle Dean!"

Of course I think something's fucking happened to Michael. "What the hell dude?"

"Michael needs a Kleenex."

Jesus Christ. I thought he died the way he was going on. "Okay, I’m coming."

"You should check his diaper again, Dean," Sam reminds me and normally, I'd be annoyed by his nagging, but this time I'm grateful.

I head over to the twin's toy room, which is a bit ridiculous if you ask me, but no one does, ask me that is. Michael doesn't look like he's having very much fun. He's sitting on a chair, holding tight to his, oh fuck let's face it, it's a doll, sucking on his soother, more gunk dripping down toward his soother. But at least he's got some color in him.

His eyes light up when he sees me and I can't deny what a nice feeling that is. I can lie to Gabe and Sam, and I will, but not to myself. He reaches one hand up to me, assuming I've come to save him. I probably have to change his diaper anyway, so I pick him up to wipe his nose.

"How come you don't buy him toys, Uncle Dean? Was he bad?"

Huh? "I do so. I bought him that thing he's got," I say defensively. "And he wasn't bad."

"We mean from before. He says he hasn't got any other toys," one of them says. I notice the twins talk in 'we's' a lot.

"Like, he's never had toys?"

"S'what he said," the other one shrugs. Sometimes I wish they weren't fucking identical, in the least that Sam and Gabe didn't dress them the same all the fucking time.

"Michael, you don't have any other toys?"

He shakes his head. "This one, Daddy. Like it."

So no then. That makes my blood boil and something about the combination of his sweet little face and the thought that no one loved him enough to give him toys makes me tear up. For the second fucking time today, I'm crying over this kid and wiping my wet eyes.

"Why are you crying Uncle Dean?"

"Cause the world's full of dicks."

"I think you're supposed to say, penis, Uncle Dean."

"Fine. The world's full of penises then." They think that's funny. "I'm going to change Michael's diaper, he'll be back to play in a minute."

I take him back to the guest bedroom and lay him down on the bed. He should probably sleep more. "Daddy? I still hasta play with them?"

"Were you even playing to begin with?"

"No." I didn't expect an answer from him, that and the simple honesty from his response makes me laugh.

I pull his pants off, the ones I bought him that actually fucking fit him—I'm proud of that. "No. You don't have to play. You can hang with me."

~BDD~

"Are you really sure I need all of this crap?" I say, bringing in the last bags through the garage. Sam's setting up the car seat Gabe was able to borrow for me, from a friend, in the Impala. Michael's following behind me. The little guy has become my shadow. I go out to Sam's car, grab bags, go into the house through the garage and back again and he follows me the whole way there and back with Ironman, his only fucking toy ever.

Speaking of. "Are there at least more toys in here?" I ask before he's even had the chance to answer my first question.

"Why do you care?" he says with that damn knowing smile of his.

I glower at him. "Just answer the damn question."

"Of course. I got him a couple of the things the twins liked at his age and yes you need all of that crap Dean."

Without saying anything, I turn into the house with the last of my bags, Michael following behind me and set them down in the living room. "There. Done," I say to Michael who's staring at me.

"Done," he repeats.

"You think you helped did you?" I laugh at him, the kid's funny.

It doesn't look like he knows where to go, so whether he likes it or not, I scoop him up and take him back out to the garage with me. I think he likes my choice though, 'cause he curls into me just as he's done all day. He feels good there. "You done yet, Sam?"

"Almost. Why don't you give him a bath? There's bath stuff in one of the bags."

"Shit! Did you get him pajamas?"

"Is a duck's butt water tight?"

"You're the best, Sammy."

"I know. Am I repaid for the law school thing yet?"

"Not by a long shot," I let trail behind me as I take Michael back into the house. "Okay, bud, now we have to find bath shit. I think I need your help."

I set him down in front of the bags, he's just as baffled as I am by them. "Should we just dump?"

I don't get an answer, because he probably doesn't know what I mean, so I illustrate for him, by flipping one of the bags upside down and letting the contents fly everywhere. Shit rolls all over the place and the best thing ever happens, Michael giggles. "That's funny is it?"

He nods. "Again, Daddy."

Not one to disappoint a crowd, I start flipping over more bags and more shit flies everywhere and Michael giggles again thinking it's the funniest thing he's ever seen and I'd do it forever to see the melancholy little boy giggle like that 'till his belly hurts. But I run out of bags eventually, thankfully he doesn't run out of smiles. "Funny, Daddy," he says from behind his soother.

I reach over and tousle his hair. "Did you happen to see bath stuff?" I look over the pile of junk and over the room since some stuff rolled away. I spot a couple of bottles of kid bath shit then dig through the pile of clothes to come up with pajamas. "Okay kid, bath time."

But before we leave, I notice a little boat with a little man in it and figure that's gotta be a bath toy, so I grab it and Michael follows me to the stairs, which I let him go up first. Can three year olds climb stairs? I can't remember. I should remember that stuff, my nephews were three just last year, but I can't. He seems to do okay, taking them one step at a time 'cause his body's so little. I want to pick him up and carry him up myself, but this is another one of those things I can sense he'll want to do himself. I have no idea how I fucking know that, it's probably just shit I'm making up in my head, but I feel it's true all the same.

I didn't tell Sam, 'cause he'd just make fun of me and I've had enough of his teasing for one day, but I'm super apprehensive about giving the kid a bath. It's pretty clear he trusts me so god damn much, that's a lot of trust to carry when you don't know what the fuck you're doing.

I set the bath shit down on the counter and help him get undressed. He looks concerned when I take Ironman away. "Ironman doesn't like getting wet, he'll rust. He'll watch you from over here." Michael nods.

That's the point I realize I probably should have run the bath first before I undressed him, but nope, didn't. Now the poor thing has to shiver in just his diaper, _jesus Winchester._

I run the bath at a temperature I _think_ is okay for a kid and add some what I think are bubbles to the water. His bare feet pad over to see what I'm doing. "Bubbles?" he says and for a minute I think I did something wrong.

"Yeah. That okay big guy?"

"Yeah. Like it, Daddy," he says all garbled behind his soother. Speaking of, I pull it out and rinse it off under the tap; set it on the rim of the tub then set to work removing his diaper. His nose is running again and it was drooling down under his soother. He looks at his soother a little concerned. "You'll get it back, I've got to wash the snot shit all away. You don't like eating that stuff do you?"

"Okay, I has it back after, Daddy," he agrees, but I think he's worried about it.

Since there's some water in the bath by this point I plunk him in and move to grab him the boat-guy toy thing and a cloth from the cabinet. "Here," I say awkwardly. He looks up and it seems to distract him thinking about his pacifier thing. I think I saw some new ones in the piles of stuff Sam picked out. I kinda want to get rid of the one he brought with him, I don't know why, I'll keep it though. For now.

"Is a boat?"

"I think so. Look, there's a little captain dude on it. Captain boat guy." I'm terrible at naming shit. If Michael is my son, I'm glad he came with his own name. Michael seems just as wowed that he gets yet another toy.

"I gots another toy, Daddy?"

"Uh, yep. Here," I say again, this time he takes it. He's got the best smile.

He sits down and starts playing with Captain boat dude (I think that's much better than boat guy) and I use the cloth to wash all the shit off his face and all his other parts. Thankfully Sam comes in before I have to wash his hair. I'm up to my elbows in bubbles and somehow my t-shirt has managed to get soaked all down the front. "Oh good, he likes that toy."

"I think he's just happy he gets any toys, if I ever find Nick…"

"You don't know the situation, Dean. Maybe they were really poor."

"Whatever. Either way you don't leave a kid on someone's porch, anything could have happened to him. When I find that guy, I'm going to rip his lungs out."

"That's different. That I'll help you do."

"You're just in time, I have no fucking clue how to wash his hair without getting soap in his eyes."

"It's okay, Dean. I got you the no tears shampoo, but you're right that they still won't like it in their eyes. I can show you how to try and avoid that, but little guys are pretty squirmy any way, so half the time I just get it over with quickly."

"I don't want soap in his eyes, Sam," I say levelly.

"Okay, okay. Jesus. Do you have a cup?"

"There's a water glass on the counter."

He retrieves it and hands it to me. "I try to get the twins to tilt their heads back, then I use my one hand as a shield for their eyes by putting my hand at the hairline, I use the cup to pour the water over their hair."

"Sounds easy enough. Okay kid, head back." But Michael's far too interested in his boat toy. I decide the best thing to do is remove the toy, just for a second. Wrong. His little fucking lip pouts and he starts this terrible silent cry with tears streaming down his face, that makes my heart hurt. "Sammy, quick. What'd I do?"

"You took his toy Dean."

"He wouldn’t put his head back, this was distracting him."

"I told you, it doesn’t always work. You just have to do the best you can."

That's not good enough. "I'm not getting fucking soap in his eyes. You can have your boat in a second big guy." He gives a little nod, but he's still doing his heartbreaking cry thing. He does tilt his head back when I ask him to the second time and I'm fucking fast with the soapsuds in his hair and I'm quick to get them back out again—all without burning his eyes.

"Here you go. See? All those tears for nothing."

He's relieved when he gets his toy back and so am I. That was the most intense five minutes of my life. Sam's fucking laughing at me, I glare at him. "Way to fend off the big bad soapsuds. I can't wait to see how you get him out of there."

"Go make yourself useful and clean all that shit in my living room up."

He's still laughing. "It's not funny," I say.

"Oh trust me, it's funny."

I throw water at him. "Okay, going, going. I'll put together a diaper bag for you…Soap man!" He runs after that, which is a good idea 'cause I do feeling like punching something right now.

I let Michael play for a bit and just watch him. I wonder what kind of a game he's playing in his head with the boat guy? "Okay, it's bed time. Time to put the toy away," I forewarn him rather than just taking it from him—I'm a quick learner.

"We come back to play tomorrow?"

"Yep. Tomorrow." I can promise him that much. "Besides, Ironman's over there getting jealous, can't you hear him heckling you?"

He looks over at his toy, I know my joke has gone over his head. "Poor Ironman. All by himself."

"I come out now, Daddy," he informs me like it was his idea. Perfect. Hard to get him out? Take that Sam.

I dry him off quick and hand him his soother and Ironman, wrapped in a towel I grab up him and his pajamas, but on the way to my bedroom, I forget that I have no diaper. "Sammy, diaper…and the other crap, pronto." I don't wait for an answer and proceed to the bedroom. He's going to have to deal with sleeping with me. I do have a guest room, but I'll be up all god damned night worrying about him if I put him in there. He's sick and for some stupid reason I'm afraid someone's going to come snatch him in the night. Better he sleeps beside me where at least all I'll have to do is open my eyes to make sure he's still there instead of running back and forth from the guest bedroom.

"You bellowed?" Sam says coming in with the requested items.

"Quit goofing around Sam and pass me the stuff, he looks ready to conk out."

He's laughing again. "You've got it bad, Dean. You're in love with the kid already."

"Just because I don't want anything to happen to him…"

"It's okay, Dean. He loves you too. Look at him looking at you—you’re his savior."

I know the kid's always looking at me and the _way_ he's always looking at me…all god damned day. It's not making it easy. But if the kid does have another Father out there that isn't me, that guy deserves to know. I know I feel damn lucky to have gotten to know the kid over the past twenty-four hours. I'm going to do what's right even if it kills me. "Stop it, Sammy."

"All right. Here. You do this, I'll go get him some juice and his teeth brushing stuff. We should give him some more Tylenol and Vicks too."

I get him all diapered and pajamaed, except I leave his shirt off to put that Vicks stuff on this time. When Sam comes back he looks impressed. We give him the kid Tylenol and the Vicks, some juice; Sam helps me brush his teeth. Sam leaves to go finish cleaning up my mess, while I pull back the white duvet. "In, buddy. Time for bed." He's a good boy and crawls in under the covers. I don't know if that's just how he is, or if he's just scared to disobey me worried he'll get left outside again. I know my nephews don't go to bed nearly this easy. "You, you is gonna stay too?" he says taking out his soother and pointing to the bed.

"I'm going to sleep right beside you big guy. Close your eyes and get some sleep." He snuggles into the pillow. I don't know how much he understands about what happened to his mom, but I know he must miss her. Especially at nighttime—that's when I missed my mom, still do, but it somehow gets worse at night. I rub his back, feeling like a poor substitute for a mom and seethe thinking again of him being left out for god knows how long on my fucking porch. He must have missed her all the more last night. _He's safe now Winchester. And warm and fucking cozy._

I wait 'till he's out, turn off the bedside light and head down to see Sam. Sam's got everything all cleaned up and he's stuffing things in a bright yellow bag. "What the fuck is that?"

"A diaper bag. Take this with you wherever you go, you're going to need this stuff."

"Why's it yellow? Couldn't you have found something…I dunno, a little more manly?"

"They don't make diaper bags with snakes and skulls on them, you'll have to settle for this one. This one had more compartments, look." He takes me on a fucking diaper bag tour and I pretend to listen. "You know, Dean, you sure you don't want to take at least tomorrow off? I don't know you should leave him just yet."

"He'll be fine. You said your super nannies could watch him. They look after your kids, if you trust'em, so do I."

"Rachel and Tess are amazing, that's not what I'm worried about. He's really attached to you Dean and he's not comfortable being away from you too long. He didn't even want to play with the twins in the next room."

"They were pestering him with questions. Besides, he was there all day today, he'll feel comfortable at your place."

"You were with him."

"This isn't open for discussion. I have to work, especially if I'm going to have another mouth to feed."

When that still doesn't wipe the bitch face away I go with humor. "You turned out to be a lawyer, maybe this one'll turn out better than that—a fucking neurosurgeon who invents the cure for cancer, while writing symphonies better than Mozart. I'm going to need a shit load of money to send him to those kinds of schools."

"I'm surprised you know who Mozart is."

"He was in a porn once."

"Um, Mozart has been dead for over two hundred years."

"I know, but his cock lives on in Mozart's Symphony: Requiem of a Penis."

"Oh my god, the porn names get worse."

"But the money shots get better."

"Ew, okay. Enough."

"Still think I should be responsible for a child?"

"Without a doubt, big brother."


	4. Stupid Cas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope y'all know by now that I'm a HUGE Jensen Ackles fan and I adore him. The stuff I say about him in this chapter is merely just for fun and b/c I thought it would be good for a laugh. I've got a sense of humor like that. 
> 
> I'm also not adding his name to the characters of this story. He doesn't play a huge role at all. Just a little comic relief. Kay?

I sleep through my fucking alarm; I know it soon as I hear my phone.

Michael and I got almost no sleep last night. He woke up either scared or 'feeling yucky,' five times in the night and it was a whole lot harder getting him back to sleep than when I'd originally put him to sleep. I got him more juice and I walked around bouncing him and shit, but he still cried and cried. I cried too. I felt god damned helpless. Finally, we laid at an awkward angle on the bed, he still cried, but I sang him some Deep Purple, poorly and rubbed his back 'till he was out again. Neither of us heard the alarm, but for some reason, I hear my fucking phone vibrating on the nightstand.

I'm buried under blankets and child who for the record, moves around a fucking lot. I don't want to wake him just yet, so I try to be careful unraveling myself and reach for my phone. It's Sam. "Dean, where are you? I have to go."

"Just go, Sammy. Slept in. I'll drop him off."

"You never sleep in…Dean this is a bad idea."

In no mood to argue with him, I hang up and immediately dial the shop. "Hey, Bobby?"

"I'm assumin' this ain't a courtesy call."

"No, look, I'll explain when I get there, but I'm going to be late, probably really late."

"That's fine Dean, don't really need you 'till noon. We got that actor douche, Jensen Ackles coming in, you know he only lets you work on his car."

I don't think the guy's all that bad, but he irritates Bobby. "I'll be there, Bobby."

"Everythin' okay? Last time you called in late was when Sammy had the flu."

"It's skookum Bobby. You want me to make it for noon, or you want to talk about feelings?"

"See you soon, idjit."

Ugh. Now for the rest of this morning, which is going to suck. Michael somehow managed to sleep through all of that, so I crawl out of bed, don't bother with a shower and dress in something that will be comfortable under my coveralls. Sam put a bunch of the kid's stuff in my room, thinking ahead for me, I'm glad someone in my life does, 'cause I sure don't, so I'm able just to sort through and find some clothes for Michael. It's probably also a good time to change his diaper and I'm scared, because I'm pretty sure I smell something.

"Daddy?" his voice croaks.

"Right here, Michael," I tell him grabbing a diaper and the ass wipes; preparing for the worst. I only briefly think about how easily I respond to that title because there's no time for thinking this morning, just doing and right now I have a big job to do. "I'm going to change your diaper stink bomb."

I use the same method Sam showed me for changing a regular diaper, but I wish I had his guidance now. "Yuck! You smell kid." I wince and plug my nose the whole time and use way too many ass wipes, I'm going to need to get more of those soon if I keep using them this way. Next time, I'm just going to spray the kid's ass off in the tub. But I survive and get his tush powdered without dying.

I also wipe his nose, which is still leaking like a sieve—how long do kids stay sick anyway? And dress him. Sam said I could give the kid Tylenol every four hours, so I do that, but now I've got to feed him breakfast. What the hell do kids eat for breakfast?

I usually make eggs for myself, so I decide to try that. I've also got a bit of ham and cheese, so I slice that up and put it in. All the while Michael watches me quietly sipping on the juice I poured him, from the floor at my feet. I had sat him down at the table, but he meandered over here. I do my best not to trip over him, 'cause let me tell you, I've come close a few times.

I'd normally inhale my breakfast, especially running as behind as I am; 'cause I'm really fucking behind, but I don't think I'll be doing that this morning. In case anyone's counting, I was supposed to be there at nine and now it's nine-thirty. I know Bobby said I've got 'till noon, but that's a couple hours of pay I don't want to miss.

Michael looks at what I put before him and I hold my fucking breath. If he doesn't eat that, I'm screwed. He grabs his fork almost as fucked up as he did his spoon yesterday, but manages to pick up a little. "Um, blow," I remember to warn him at the last second. It's probably still hot. He blows then forks it into his tiny mouth.

"Mmm, like it, Daddy," he says. Thank fuck.

I gobble my breakfast as he painfully, slowly eats his and I feel rushed, but I can't imagine the kid going hungry. I'm sure the nannies will feed him, but I won't be there to see that and I've got to see that he's eaten. "Can I help you, bud?"

"Can do it, Daddy."

Right and take 'till the end of time. He doesn't seem to notice my impatience though and he's too fucking cute to be mad at, especially when he's enjoying himself so much. He seems quite proud of himself. When he's finally finished, he puts his fork down. "Done."

I tousle his hair, which is a lot messier than it was yesterday. I should probably brush it or something, but there's no time. I'll see if one of the nannies can do it. "Good job," I say. "We gotta go."

I grab him out of his seat and his soother and Ironman and scuttle to the door, stuffing his feet into his shoes, not bothering to ask him if he can do it. He doesn't complain though, probably sensing my panic. Kids can pick up on that shit, right?

The stupid yellow diaper is right in front of my door with a note on it in Sam's writing that says: _Take this, Dean. You'll thank me later._

Don't tell him, but he's probably right, so I sling it over my shoulder, grab Michael and run out the garage way to the Impala. "Daddy's car?" he says.

"Yep. My daddy gave her to me," I say kind of excited to take him for his first ride in Baby. But fuck me side ways when I remember I've got to fiddle with the car seat on my own. I really should have watched how Sam did this.

I sit him in the car seat and try to pull the straps over him, but Ironman is in the fucking way. I'm impatient at the best of times and right now is not the best of times. Ironman gets thrown across the backseat of the Impala, which, if I wanted to make things worse, I've just gone and done it. This time I get crying like I did last night; loud and eardrum shattering, but worse than that is the look on his face: I didn't just throw a child's stuffed toy, I killed Ironman. I manage to get the straps around him, now that Ironmnan's outta the picture, but I'm more stressed now with the crying and it looks like there are two places I've gotta buckle up. Thankfully, it looks like a pretty expensive car seat (not only are Sam and Gabe rich, but they've got rich ass friends) so it buckles up easily. I retrieve Ironman from the floor. "Here you go big guy. See? Ironman's tough, he can survive a little tossing."

He takes him from me and the glare I get is worth it. That's the first time I think the kid looks like me. He couldn't have picked that up in a day, could he? Whether I'm imagining it or not, it's there and it's pretty damn cute. "Look, I'm sorry, but car seats suck. You'll understand one day when you're a parent." I always wanted to say that, since I never did to Sammy. Somehow I think it's lost on the three year old.

He pulls his soother out. "Doesn't like that, Daddy."

Holy crap, I've just been told. Honestly? I'm glad to see the kid sticking up for himself…and his friend I guess, I think I can count Ironman as a friend, and that must have taken a lot of bravery to say something to me especially, but it was a dick move if I'm looking at it from his perspective. "I'm sorry, kiddo. Really. Won't do it again." I really hope I haven't tarnished myself in his eyes.

"Doesn't do it again?"

"Nope. Pinky swear." I don't know if he understands what pinky swearing is, but I do it anyway, linking my large pinky with his.

"Hurt Irun…man."

"Should I fix him up?"

He nods and holds him up. "Kiss."

And now I have to kiss a fucking doll, but I do it and hope no one's filming this shit for YouTube. "There. Forgive me now?"

"Forgive you, Daddy. Irunman's, mad."

Wow. I really pissed off Ironman, but so long as Michael forgives me, I figure I'm doing pretty good. After I clean off his face from all the tears and endless snot, I hop into the front seat and open the garage door, starting up the car at the same time. We're off like a herd of turtles, but we're off and it's only ten-fifteen, still plenty of time to make it for eleven.

~BDD~

Dropping him off at Sam's house is a whole other story. Suddenly, I'm not so brave. I know the kids love Rachel and Tess, Sam and Gabe love Rachel and Tess and I loved them too, until today leaving my sorta kid with them. I mean, what if they forget to wipe his nose? It runs a lot. Do they know they shouldn't throw Ironman? I've figured out some things he likes to eat, what if they don't pay as close attention and feed him liver and onions or something? Speaking of attention, Michael requires less attention than Matt and Logan in terms of how much of it he asks for, what if he gets forgotten? Or worse, what if they lose him? Oh god, they're going to lose my kid. Now I wish I had listened to Sam and booked the day off because I'm the one having fucking separation anxiety. Michael, who's picking up on that anxiety, (I'm sure kids pick up on that, right?) knows something bad is on the horizon and he's clinging to me tighter than he usually does. At this point, I would call Bobby and tell him I'm not coming in, but Jensen Ackles had to pick today to be in town and today to bring his car in and he doesn't like anyone else but me to work on his car. Fuck.

_Pull it together Winchester. Be brave for the kid. He's only scared 'cause you're freaking out._

I decide to try the whole 'Band-Aid,' thing and rip it off fast. Less pain, right? "Be back later, big guy. Play with Logan and Matthew 'till I come get you." I try to set him down, but he won't let go.

"C'mon bud. It's work time, playtime's later."

"Nooo…Dah-ah-dee," he starts crying soon as he figures out I'm trying to leave him. "I's can come with you. I be a good bo-oy." He starts saying that over and over. Jesus fucking Christ, he's ripping at my heart and I don't know what to do.

Rachael helps pry him from me; Ironman falls to the floor. "Go Mister Winchester. This is normal. We'll have him playing with the kids as soon as you're out the door."

I'm sure she's right, she is a kid expert (despite my paranoid delusions) but it's really hard to fucking leave when Michael's crying like that and reaching for me and begging me not to leave him. But this is good right? When I come back, he'll know I'm not leaving him for good…except, I might be. I think I've just gotten a glimpse at what it'll be like if I have to say goodbye to Michael for good and I don't like it…I don't fucking like it at all.

I leave the yellow diaper bag for her and leave to the sounds of Michael screaming. I feel like shit as I get into the Impala. I'm not going to be able to fucking work like this anyway. The only thought that gets me to start up the car, is that I'm going to work for him, if he's my kid, I'm giving him a good life. He's going to Neurosurgery Music School dammit.

I'm half way to work, during the worst drive ever when my phone rings, it's Rachael. I press the answer button and put her on speaker and am immediately greeted with the sounds of Michael crying. I don't wait for her to say anything. "I'm coming back."

Hoping there are no cops around, I pull a U in the middle of the fucking street and head back to get my kid. It's eleven-thirty now, I'm going to be late for noon, but Jensen Ackles can hold his fucking horses.

I don't knock and just open the door. Michael's in the foyer of Sam's house smashing his little fists on the floor screaming, "Daddy leaves me! Daddy leaves me!"

I hate it when Sam's right, it was too soon and you can say it, I'm the worst kind of idiot. I grab him up and start wiping his face with my hand. "It's okay, kiddo. I'm here. I didn't leave you." I wish I could tell him never, that I'll never leave him. How long does it take for a fucking paternity test to arrive? I hope Sam didn't care about what I would think and got them shipped express. He looks at me surprised, but he's still crying completely confused. He does grab onto the neck of my jacket, if I should be stupid enough to leave him again and cries into my chest.

"I'm sorry Mister Winchester. Tess and I have never seen anything like that, I thought I'd better call you before you got too far away. Maybe we can slowly work him into coming here? But best another day."

I'm pissed, but not at her, only problem is when I'm pissed, it's hard not to take it out on others. "Yeah, fine," I keep my answer short and clipped. "Thanks anyway."

The poor tiny, Pilipino woman feels terrible and I didn't make it any better, I know, but I'm in crisis mode right now. I don't know how to make Michael feel better after that and now that I can't leave him anywhere, my only option is to take him to the shop with me. I grab the diaper bag, but see he's somehow managed to keep his soother tight in his fist. I have to pick up discarded Ironman, then I head back out the door. That was an epic fail.

Without an answer to my first question, I do something really fucking terrible, I just fucking drive holding onto Michael, neither of us wearing seat belts and once again, hope to fuck a cop isn't nearby. He's finally starting to calm down and I don't want to put him in the car seat—away from me—just to have him start all over again. I do luck out and don't get caught, but I decide that the two of us could definitely use a timeout, so I stop for a coffee. I don’t do well without coffee in the first place, but there was just no time for it this morning. There's coffee at the shop, but it's kinda crappy. I still drink it, but I'd rather start my day with a nice cup.

After I've pulled over, I call Bobby again. "Bobby, man, I'm sorry, I need another half hour. Can you stall Jensen?"

"Balls, Dean. What the hell is going on with you this morning?"

"I promise it's good. Get Benny to flirt with him or something."

"I thought that guy was married?"

"We all like to know we still got it, you'll have to trust me on this one." That and Jensen flirts with me all the time; I don't think his wife minds.

Bobby mutters something obscene, but agrees to it and hangs up. I take a big breath and tousle Michael's hair to get his attention, he's finally stopped crying. "You okay now?"

"Irunman's not mad," is the first thing he tells me; also tells me where his mind is at.

"He's not? Well he should be. I was a dick to him. You've gotta stick up for your friends in life, kid."

I'm not sure if he gets that, so I add, "I left to go to work, not because you or Ironman were mad at me."

Still nothing. I don't know how to get him to understand, so I decide to work on cheering him up. I think that I can do. "How about some sugar?" I say pulling us both out of the car and grabbing his diaper bag. I don't think I'm going to need it to run into the coffee shop, but Sam said I should always keep it with me and at this point, I'm realizing I need to listen to Sam at least until I get my bearings. He's had his kids four years, plenty more years of experience than me.

I wish I could go to a different coffee shop, but this really is the best one and I need good coffee right now. This really douchey dude works here. A really hot douche, but a douche for sure. I never ask anyone out on a date, like ever, but for some reason in my classic Dean, do and don't think style, I asked him if I could buy him dinner and he fucking turned me down.

I have no idea why, 'cause I'm a total catch, at least from the outside. I deserved more than the disgusted once over I got from him. The coffee shop itself is pretty cool though, it's got a cozy homey feel, not all commercial like fucking Starbucks at all. Also unlike Starbucks, their coffee is delicious and doesn't taste like burnt beans—I'm pretty fucking picky about my coffee. That's why it extra sucked when I got rejected so harshly, it's pretty embarrassing to come here and have to look at him. Of course I did come back, because their croissants are also the best—good food is worth swallowing your pride for and I'm completely ruled by my stomach. Sam likes this place because they've got all kinds of used books you can read while you enjoy your beverage and they have reading nights for adult books and reading days for kids. Sometimes they'll even get an author to come in and do a reading from their book. It's such a small place, I don't know how the owner has connections like that. I've never met the owner of this place. Just that douchey, know it all barista, who I'm a complete dick to now when I come in.

Thankfully, sometimes he's the dude who takes the orders and is not the guy making the coffee, I'm sure he spits in it when he does, but I try to watch him pretty closely…it's not so I can look at his ass.

Michael seems to understand what sugar is—I think kids must be born knowing that—and if Gabe is right and he does eat like me, he's probably already hungry again, 'cause I sure am. It's going to be a three croissant morning.

I attempt to put Michael down, while maneuvering the god damned diaper bag, but he's still clinging to me and when I go to pull away, I have to swing awkwardly to catch him and the diaper bag knocks into a pile of books left on a table. Seriously people, put your shit away when you're done. I pick up Michael and I try to pick up the books without knocking anything else over, the diaper bag swinging against me.

The whole shop has seen my clumsy display and of course I feel eyes on me from the register, douche bag watching the whole thing. "Need a hand there Shrek?"

"I want to speak to your manager. That's no way to treat customers, dillhole."

"I'm sure my 'boss' will have no problems with the way I treat you. What is that you're carrying? Someone trusted you with their kid? I think I'd better call social services."

See? Total and utter douche bag. I'm pretty sure he's just needling me in the way we do, but those words are still pretty fucking scary to hear. Not to mention they play on my own insecurities and make me want to punch him. "Just hop to it and get me four fucking croissants, a large coffee and a kid's hot chocolate," I demand, setting Michael on the counter, knowing he'll probably fucking hate that. I note that he takes a lot of pride in his coffee shop job, he's always shining tables to perfection. I'm sure he won't like a kid's ass on his clean countertop.

"You shouldn't swear in front of kids. What would his parents say?"

"His parents would say, it's none of your fucking business, so do your damn job."

It doesn't piss him off like I want it to; it eggs him on because he knows he's getting under my skin. "Daddy, I'm hungry," Michael takes his soother out to say.

Shit. Maybe he is my kid. I'm just happy he feels comfortable to ask for shit from me again. "Maybe make that five croissants."

"Daddy? That's yours?" Cas says.

"Again, none of your business. Some of us have important jobs to get to." Okay. I know how dickish that was, which is why I said it. You shouldn't make fun of man's job. I've seen how hard this guy works and there's nothing wrong with any job, so long as you take pride in that job, but that's what ends up pissing the guy off.

Michael's even looking at me disapprovingly and that's not okay with me. I'm sure he doesn't understand the exchange, but he knows something's up. He'll probably still take my side, but I think he gets that I'm not being nice. I clear my throat determined to be a good example for the kid while I've got him. "I'm sorry Cas, that was a shit thing to say. It was over the line even for us."

Cas is having some kind of thought behind his eyes I can tell, but I don't know what that thought is. "I shouldn't have said what I said either. That too was over the line," he says.

"I still hate you."

"Likewise."

"Daddy throwed Irunman," Michael rats me out.

"That doesn't sound very nice. Did you apologize for this Winchester?"

"He did," Michael answers for me. "Was a dick."

Shit. He pays attention a lot more than I thought. I bite my lip to keep from laughing, because Michael saying dick is fucking funny.

"I wager you learned that from your 'daddy' here," he says ringing up my total. "That's not a word little boys should say young man."

Michael looks at me to see if it's true. I sigh. "I'm okay with dick, that's part of his anatomy."

"Twenty-five, sixty-five. Tell him to use penis instead, that's more appropriate for a little boy."

"Twenty-five, sixty-five? Since when did you start gold plating the croissants?"

"You ordered five and a coffee and a kid's hot chocolate, that's a lot more than your usual order."

"Fuck. Fine."

Cas glares at me for swearing in front of the kid again. I want to punch him in his stupid face. I slam Twenty-six dollars on the counter and make him give me all the change; I'm not leaving his ass a tip.

"Here," he says handing me a tissue, since Michael's nose is running again. I don't accept it because it irks me, like he's already fucking judging me on my parenting skills because of the swearing and now because I'm not doing a good enough job keeping his nose clean, which believe me, I feel like I wipe every five seconds, I just can't keep up with it. "Thanks, but I'm good," I say taking a Kleenex out of my pocket and wiping Michael's nose. "I really do have to go though, so if you could make it snappy with the croissants and shit?"

"Yeah."

While I wait, I check in with Michael. "How you doin' big guy?"

"You isn't leavin'?"

"Nope. You're coming to work with me. I'm warning you now, Uncle Bobby's going to put you and Ironman to work—he'll take all the extra hands he can get. Child labor laws mean nothing to him."

My joke isn't appreciated by Michael of course, since it goes over his head, he's just happy I'm not leaving him, but I swear to Christ I see Castiel smile.

Michael's definitely earned a take five by this point in the morning and yeah it's close to noon, but I don't care. I open the door to the Impala and sit him inside and actually thank Cas in my head for thinking to pack everything onto one of those cardboard coffee trays for me, or I don't know how I'd carry all that and Michael and a diaper bag. Speaking of which…

I set all the shit down and yep, wet diaper. It's only been a couple hours, do kids really pee that much? Least it's not another stink bomb. The black leather seat of the Impala, the one I don't let food in the back of, the one I don't let anyone sit on unless I'm sure the ass of their pants is pristinely clean, is now being used as a diaper change table, 'cause I'd rather do that then to have to go back in the coffee shop and have Cas heckle me again, judging me on parenting skills I know I don't have. Dick. Who does that guy think he is? Telling me what to do with Michael.

Michael's subdued the entire time. Despite his courage to engage in the coffee shop, I think me leaving him this morning took me like three steps back with him; I'm going to have to earn his trust again, least in that department. When his diaper's all changed, I give him a croissant and try not to care about the crumbs I see falling in Baby's backseat. He's happy as a clam and likes the delicious croissants as much as I do; I remain crouched in front of him with the door to the Impala open, sipping coffee and hoping to God he doesn't fucking hate me. I don't think he does though, 'cause finally, I get another one of his special smiles he's only shared with me so far. "Those are good, huh?"

"Like it, Daddy."

I laugh to myself. He says that a lot, it's damn cute. "Me too, but we should save the rest for later and hit the road."

I give him a sip of his hot chocolate, now that it's cooled and he lets me put him back in the car seat. This time I ask him, "can I have Ironman for just a second?"

I place him to the side, instead of throwing him, buckle Michael up without too much difficulty and give him back. I tousle his hair. "Okay, thief. We're off again." Yes the kid is a thief, 'cause he's stealing my fucking heart. Suddenly the 'right' thing doesn't feel all that 'right.' I've had the kid, what? Twenty-six hours? I already can't imagine life without out him. This fucking sucks.

~BDD~

When I get to work, Jensen's there looking annoyed, Bobby's jaw drops when he sees who I've got with me, I'm sure the bright yellow diaper bag doesn't help. Benny must be in the back, 'cause I don't see him. "Close your mouth, or you'll catch flies, Bobby. Give me the keys Mr. Ackles, I'll start right away and do it at half my rate for making you wait."

"Whoa, Dean. Mr. Ackles? I thought we were past that. Call me Jensen—you've worked on my car enough. And I've got a little one too, I know what it's like—that what held you up?"

I don't want to use him as an excuse, but it is the reason. "It's been a hectic morning and he's sick," I say.

"What's your name little guy?"

I try not to wince at his use of 'little guy,' I don't want him getting a small complex. Michael curls into me further, but answers shyly, "Michael Inchester."

Bobby walks away muttering about how he doesn't even want to know, while Jensen shakes hands with Michael and Ironman. Then his phone buzzes. "That'll be my wife. Don't want to keep her waiting. I don't need the car back for the day; just time for its scheduled maintenance and since I was in town, I had to get you to work on it." And you want to sleep with me, I decide. I try to make it a rule not to sleep with clients though, a rule I've only broken…okay, so I don't really follow that rule at all, but I feel like sleeping with him would be like sleeping with a brother or something. It's just not on for us. "And I wouldn't dream of paying you half your rate, though it's kind of you to offer."

As soon as he's gone, I go to my locker and retrieve my coveralls one handed with Michael on my hip, but I have to set him down so I can put them on. I think he figures he's here to stay with me, so he lets me put him down without freaking. "I hasta put that on too, Daddy?" he says pointing.

"We'll have to get you some if you keep hanging out here."

I jump when I see Bobby with crossed arms leaning against the door jam. "What's that?" He nods at Michael.

"My son, I think." I give him a quick synopsis of what happened and wait for him to bludgeon me. Bobby's a lot like a stand in father to me in some ways. If I'm ever half the man Bobby is, I'll consider my work on this Earth done.

He studies Michael a long time as Michael also studies him. "You know anythin' 'bout workin' on cars, kid?"

Michael's eyes turn down, confused. "What's he mean, Daddy?"

"It means how 'bout you come with me a minute or two and let your daddy get started? I'll show you some neat stuff in my office," Bobby answers for me.

Michael looks at me. "Go on. I'll be right out back, you can come see me if you need to."

He nods and makes his way over to Bobby. "I can come back to see Daddy?"

"Yep. Don't know why you'd want to, but if you insist. I'll tell you things about him, might make you reconsider," he says as they walk off, Michael close behind him.

I leave the locker room, after stuffing Michael's diaper bag and the croissants inside and head out to Jensen's car. Benny's out there working on the car next to me. Of course he hassles me for being late too and I've got to tell him the whole thing. I can't catch a fucking break, I'm late one time.

Michael doesn't stay with Bobby long and he comes out to the garage part where all the cars are. I put him next to a box of tools. "Stay put, y'hear?" I'm stern when I say that. A garage is not the safest place for a kid, I know that and I'm going to get flack from Sam, but I grew up in a garage and never died. It's just Benny and I and we'll both be watching him. Benny doesn't have kids of his own, but he's got lots of nieces and nephews. Bobby will be around too.

He reaches for the toolbox with a question in his eyes of 'can I?' There's not really anything in that particular one he can hurt himself with, but, do three year olds put shit in their mouths? "Don't put shit in your mouth and you can look in there. Got it?"

I don't know if he understands or not, but he has serious eyes when he nods. I slide under Jensen's car. "Benny, do three year olds put shit in their mouths?"

"Uh…some do and some don't I think."

Well that's not fucking helpful at all.

Jensen's car is easy. It's an expensive car and he really should take it to the expensive car place, but he always gets me to work on it when he's passing through Kansas. Supposedly he has family here and he stops to visit when he's on vacation. I slide out every once in a while to see what Michael's doing and wipe his nose. He's found a wrench and is pretending to fix up Ironman with it. "You fixing Ironman?" I ask.

"Is fixing stuff like you, Daddy."

That makes me smile. "Good job, bud." I slide back under and work on changing the oil. I'm kind of greasy when I come back out to look in on Michael again and so is he. The tools in that box aren't the cleanest and his new clothes are getting dirty and he's got a stripe of grease across his face. "Are you a grease monkey now, like me?"

I don't think he knows what a grease monkey is, but he still says, "yeah, Daddy."

"C'mere. I'll show you something." Replacing the air filter in any car is surprisingly easy and I sometimes can't believe people pay me to do it for them. He gets up from sitting in front of the toolbox and pads his way over to me, I lift him and we go under the hood together. I've already got the casing off, so I get him to lift the air filter out, huck it in the trash and hand the new one to him and show him where to put it. "There, just changed your first air filter, kid. I was five when I helped my dad do mine, so you've got me beat. Now you're an official grease monkey." Michael looks proud of himself.

Benny laughs at us. "Winchester and Sons, family business?"

"Har, har."

That's when Bobby comes out. "I knew you'd have him under that hood within the hour. Looks like he needs coveralls."

"They even make them in his size?" I ask. I had some young too, but he's freakishly small.

"You just let me worry about that. He hungry?"

"You want to go with Uncle Bobby to get food?"

I can tell it's a hard decision for him, far as I can tell; he already likes food. "Help you, Daddy, okay?"

"Okay, grease monkey. I've got stuff I can give him in a bit Bobby, but thanks." Embarrassingly, all I have is stupid Cas's croissants.

Bobby looks at me skeptically. "I'll go get us all some food, you and Michael finish that car."

~BDD~

Predictably, I get a text from Sam freaking at me, because he already figured out I took Michael to work. I ignore his ranting messages, until he tells me he's already got the paternity tests. He express ordered them to his office. I call him. "Dean! What the hell were you thinking?"

"Michael did great. He helped me all day, Bobby hired him."

"He did?"

"Yep, kid's a natural. We think he'll have his license by next year," I tease.

"I thought he was going to be a Neurosurgeon symphony writer or something?"

"He is, he can do this in his spare time. He likes it."

"I think he just likes being wherever you are."

Thankfully my brother can't see me blush. "So should we come over there, or…?"

"Yeah. Come over and I'll help you do the standard test and tell you what you have to do with the legal one."

"Okay, I just have to stop home real quick."

"There are extra clothes for Michael in his diaper bag, you did bring it didn't you?"

"Yes, I did."

"Just come here then, you can wash him up here."


	5. Daddy Loves Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to remind everyone that all chapters I write are my raw, unedited works. I pretty much go commando. So you'll have to forgive ol' Mock if there are mistakes and if some of the sentences are not as polished as they could be. Since it's written chapter by chapter, continuity errors are highly likely. I have one self-published work, which I went through the editing process with, it took a long ass time and it's only a 237 pg book! Many of these stories end up 500+ pages, if I did all that with these stories, it would take a few weeks, per chapter...you'd be waiting awhile. 
> 
> It's the reason I request kindly, that NO one leaves "helpful" con-crit in their comments. I really feel a relationship should be developed between a writer and the person they trust to critique their work before such a thing can happen. I feel that is the only way true constructive criticism can take place. Otherwise, it just ends up killing my muse. ;-) Believe me, I know I'm not a perfect writer. (Sorry, have had some issue with this of late)
> 
> Thank-you to everyone for leaving me such great notes. I love chatting with all the readers of this page!!

Michael passes out in the backseat on the way to Sam and Gabe's. Poor thing's fucking exhausted. I wish I could pass out too. I'm running off of as little sleep as he is.

I cleaned him up as best I could with some fast orange at the shop, but his little hands are stained almost as heavily as mine. Of course he couldn't do some of the bigger and more dangerous stuff; he did a lot of holding, but he was happy to do it.

When I get to Sam's, I remove him from the car seat as gently as I can trying not to wake him, make sure to grab Ironman and the diaper bag (which means I have to shut the door to the Impala with my hip) and head inside. Sam takes one look at Michael, limp as a rag doll over my shoulder, and gives me a scolding look. "What the fuck did I do now?" I whisper growl.

"He's not going to sleep tonight if he sleeps now, that's just common sense Dean."

"He had a long day at work."

"Give him a nap next time," he advises dropping it. "You want to lay him down? Though him waking up alone might be a bad idea."

After this morning's episode I think I'd better listen to Sam. I don't tell him that of course. "I was thinking I'd lay down with him. I cleaned us up and I'll take his clothes off, so we don't destroy your fancy bed sheets."

Sam smiles. "I don't care about the bed sheets Dean. Sure, go lay down with him. We've got to feed the kids, but I'll save dinner for you both."

I take Michael to the guest bedroom and carefully remove his clothes, which are unfortunately ruined with grease stains. Least I can use those for his shop clothes if he continues to come with me to work. I strip him down to his diaper, which I changed before we left work, and slip the duvet over him. I take my socks and t-shirt off, in just my sweats and slip under the covers with him and Ironman. All I have to do is close my eyes and I'm out too.

~BDD~

When I wake up, there are two blue eyes watching me; they light up as soon as they see mine open. "Daddy!" His tiny hand reaches out to touch my face. I put my hand over his and rub the backside with my thumb.

"Hey big guy," I say. "Time to eat?"

He nods.

I climb out of bed and he sits up noticing his bare chest and pats it. "Where's my clothes?"

"They're all dirty. We have to get you new stuff."

"You gots no clothes too?" he says pointing at my bare chest.

I smile. "Right here, bud." I grab my shirt from where I left it over the back of the chair and slip it on. I pull out the yellow diaper bag and sift through it, Sammy really did pack it well. "Ha! Here you go." I throw the clothes at him, so they land on him gently. He laughs.

I check the time, looks like we've been out an hour. The process is becoming route now, I change Michael's diaper, wipe his nose and dress him. I get a bit excited when I see which shirt Sammy packed him, 'cause I know he'll freak in a good way. "Look, Michael." I show him the Ironman shirt before I put it on him.

"Irunman?" he says pointing.

"Yep. Irunman," I say like him.

He smiles extra wide. "Sammy got that for you," I make sure to tell him. Sure I paid for it, but I already stole credit for the doll; it's only fair I tell him Sam picked out the shirt.

"Sammy?"

"Uh-huh, so uh, you thank him, okay?" I'm pretty sure you're supposed to tell kids to thank people. I didn't do that kind of stuff with Sammy. It was weird 'cause I was his brother, my role was largely to keep him smiling, fed, teach him how to put his shoes on (apparently) and from killing himself. Not making him a model citizen. I have no idea how Sammy did become a model citizen.

"Kay."

Michael, Ironman and I head out to the family room where Sam and Gabe are relaxing, the kids must be in their toy room. Michael runs up to my leg and looks at Sam shyly. "Oh look, you've got on Ironman!" Sammy says excited.

Michael looks up at me. "Go on. Tell him thank-you," I say.

"Thank-you," Michael repeats and reaches for me with his Ironman free hand. I pull him up to me and he curls in like usual, I tousle his hair.

"Do you want a brush for that Dean? I can grab it from his diaper bag for you. It's a lot messier than it was yesterday."

"That's because Michael's going for the 'I don't have a stick shoved up my ass' look," I inform my brother, setting Michael down.

He rolls his eyes at me.

"You should feed your brother, Sam. He always gets like this when he's hangry."

"True. C'mon you two. You hungry, Michael?" Sam asks.

"Very," he says and we all laugh.

"What did I say before, Dean?" Gabe says as we make our way into the kitchen.

"Speaking of, where are those paternity tests, Sammy?" I ask.

"Gabe, honey. You mind grabbing them out the food?" Gabe nods at Sam's question. "Thanks, I'll go get the tests."

We sit and Gabe pulls some stuff out of the oven. There's chicken, potatoes, green beans, and garlic cheese toast. I do remember cutting shit up for Sam. When I was eight, he was only four and I was terrified of him choking for some reason. I grab Michael's plate before I touch my own and cut everything up into a size I think won't get trapped in his esophagus. "You can eat that with your hands, bud. See?" I demonstrate by picking up one of my green beans with fingers and dropping it into my mouth. Michael starts in on his. I'm glad he's a good eater. I notice I haven't had to wipe his nose in at least two minutes; maybe he's getting better?

"Thanks for the food, dude," I say to Gabe. "I was hangry. How did you know?"

"I am a celestial being with celestial powers."

"No shit?"

"I've known you too long dumb-ass."

"Hey, I thought you don't swear in front of kids?"

"That's more your brother. I'm a do as I say and not as I do type of parent with things like that. Just because an adult does it, doesn't mean a kid should. I drink beer in front of my kids, does that mean they should? No. How is swearing different from that? I think it's important kids learn the difference of what they can do and what their parents, adults can do. When they're adults, they can earn that right. Besides, I know my kids will be swearing soon as they hit school and can do it behind my back, it's just another one of those waste of time song and dances society peer pressures us into doing."

"Whoa, Gabe. I think that's the coolest thing you've ever said." I have new respect for my brother-in-law.

Sam walks back in the room. "What put that look of awe on your face?" he asks me.

"Your husband is cool."

"He give you his speech on kids and swearing?"

"Yep and I agree. I think I'll adopt that one as a parent too," I decide out loud.

"Fine, but don't come to me for help when Michael gets kicked out of pre-school because none of the other parents want their kid to be around yours. While I agree with my dear husband, I would qualify that his points apply to older children. When kids are this little, they just parrot you, without really understanding what they're saying. Therefore they don't understand why they can't—and since it can't be reasonably explained, it's better to avoid them hearing those words until it can be. As I also told, Gabriel, we can relax on that rule around the house when they're a bit older and we can get them to understand the words that are for kids and the ones that are for adults."

"Whoa, point of contention," I say shovelling food into my mouth.

"No point of contention," Gabe says pulling Sam to him. "I'm sorry, babe." They kiss.

"Ew!" I say.

"Ew," Michael parrots.

"See? Case and point."

"Okay, Lawyer guy," I say. "Where are these tests?"

"We'll do it after you finish eating, 'cause I've got to swab your mouth. The other set you have to take to your doctor, they have to be done by a third party. If we do these ones before eight pm, I can use my office courier and have them to the lab, so they can be submitted tomorrow. Then we wait forty-eight hours. You going into work tomorrow?"

My face frowns down into a scowl because I want to say, of course I'm going to work, except I'm not. "Bobby's making me take the day off—something about a bunch of paid vacation time I have…he told me to take the rest of the week off too."

Sam laughs his ass off at me. "This must be killing you."

"Shut up, Sammy."

"Have you ever even taken a vacation day? Bet you could take five paid years off with how much you've got accumulated."

"I take days off, but Bobby needs me."

"Apparently not this week he doesn't."

Gabe must recognize I'm about to punch my brother. "Okay, knock it off you two. Dean's off tomorrow, so I should get him a beer. Michael, how about some juice?"

Michael looks at me; he's still shy around Gabe even though he took to Bobby really quickly. Gabe can be loud though in an obnoxious kind of way; he's a really great guy, but takes some getting used to. "Yeah, he'll have juice."

When we're done, Sam gets us to rinse out our mouths and waits a few minutes, then he takes a weird looking brush thing out of the kit and swipes it on the inside of my cheek for fifteen seconds then places it inside a little case marked 'A' inside the kit. "Okay, Michael. It's your turn," Sam says.

Michael looks up at me apprehensively. "I just did it kiddo. It doesn't hurt. I swear. C'mon up here." I lift him onto the large kitchen counter. "It's just like brushing your teeth."

With my coaxing, he opens for Sammy and sort of leans forward a bit letting Sam swipe the inside of his mouth with the brush thing, he puts it into canister 'B.' "There, we're all done. Does Michael want to take a bath with the kids? Our tub's pretty big."

"You're a soap in the eyes kind of parent," I say protectively.

"I swear, I won't touch his hair. C'mon. It'll be fun. I've got some little fish toys they can use for water guns," Sammy says and that does sound like it might be fun. "It'll tire him out, so maybe he'll have a hope of going to bed by nine."

"Sold," I say.

"Hey, I want in on this," Gabe says.

So we take all the kids up to the bath. Michael doesn't interact much at first, but he enjoys watching Logan and Matthew. I'm the one who ends up being a bit of a paranoid freak, but I'm trying not to let it show. It's just that they're so big and he's so small. With only a year between them, it makes me wonder how much the kid was fed? If he is my son and has some of my and Sam's genetics, shouldn't he be a little bigger? All we really know about his mom was that she was severely depressed. Maybe she couldn't function…forgot to feed him? and it was left up to this Nick, who leaves kids on porches.

I make sure I'm the one to wash Michael's hair. I'm the only one who will do it right. After I'm done, Michael, who's got his soother out (so I can clean under it again) and is holding onto one of the fish squirting toys says, "I can get them, Daddy?"

So far, Matt and Logan have been squirting each other and not Michael, worried he doesn't want to be squirted. They weren't leaving him out, because every time they'd 'get each other,' they'd say, "look Michael!" trying to get his attention and make him laugh.

He hasn't laughed yet, or even smiled, but I can tell he's fascinated. He does like them, even if he's unsure about them. "Yep. Squirt them. You want my help?"

"Yes. Daddy, helps me."

I wonder if he's noticed I don't refer to myself as 'Daddy.' Probably not. I hope not. I feel bad enough I don't correct him like I should be, referring to myself as 'Daddy' when I don't know if I am feels like another level of wrong. Especially because…fuck, I like it okay? It makes my heart clench for just a second, a warm little squeeze that makes me feel all kinds of sappy shit that I didn't know I could feel.

I wrap my hand around his, which is around the squishy fish toy and start squirting water at my nephews who squeal and laugh. Of course they 'get us back,' Sam, Gabe and I getting soaked in the process, and Michael peals out with a giant, little boy giggle. First Sam's eyes widen, then they relax into a smug expression I know well. He's thinking, 'see? I knew you'd be good for him.'

The twins seem to know to be a little careful as they squirt him and probably see him as younger than he actually is. My nephews are good boys, even if they can be a little rambunctious.

When I pull him out of the bath a little while after that, he's still smiling. "Is fun, Daddy. Like it."

We put the kids in pajamas, which Sam also packed in the diaper bag (that thing is like fucking Mary Poppins's bag with how much shit is in it) and I decide I should probably take Michael home. "You should repack that before you go anywhere tomorrow," Sam says, referring to the diaper bag. "Here, I had my assistant type you up this list."

I take the list, very grateful because I cannot remember what the fuck was in that thing. "You did?"

"Yes."

"You're the best little brother a guy could have, Sammy."

"I'll take that as a thank-you. So, I'll send those tests off first thing, we should get the results Thursday. What will you and Michael do until then?"

"Honestly Sam? No fucking clue."

~BDD~

Our sleep Monday night, isn't any better than it was Sunday night, but at least we don't have to be up at any particular time on Tuesday and yes, it did take longer for me to put him to bed as Sam predicted. Okay, no late afternoon naps. Got it. I did fucking forget to turn off my work alarm and in a mad panic to turn it off before it woke up the kid, I threw it at the wall; it shattered into a million pieces. Least now we had something to do: Go buy a new alarm clock.

In any case, I'm walking around doubly tired and so is Michael. I'm no doctor, but I'm assuming the lack of sleep isn't helping his cold, which is still there, but it's much better. I don't feel like I'm wiping his nose every five seconds. I lucked out with the eggs yesterday, so I decide to go with that and add toast today. While I put all of that together, I call Bobby to complain about being off for four workdays, but have to leave my complaints on his answering machine since he doesn't answer.

Ironman sits beside his plate and so does his soother as Michael works on his breakfast, slowly, but surely. The whole time I watch him; all I can think about are paternity tests and try to look for something that might suggest he's mine. I know everyone teases me about his appetite and even I've thought the same, but I don't know I can say that's really proof enough. The kid's eyes aren't even my color, but at least his hair is dark like Sammy's. Maybe his cheekbones, since mine are fairly prominent and so are his. I try to picture him with spikey hair like mine…maybe, but I just don't know.

I've been staring at him so long and not eating, he finishes his breakfast before me. "Daddy?"

"Yeah, bud?"

"I have some of that?" he says pointing toward my breakfast.

"You're _still_ hungry?"

He nods. I'm shocked, but I'm back to square one with that one again, it giving me hope that appetite is hereditary. No one I know eats like that...like me, not even Sam and he's bigger than I am. "You're like a wood bug—you're going to eat me out of house and home," I say trading him plates.

As he eats my breakfast, I slap ham and cheese between bread and eat it this time, before he steals that too. He's wearing his Ironman shirt again, requested it and since it wasn't dirty, I put it on him again; he's also got on a tiny pair of shorts Sam picked out. "Done," he finally says after finishing almost my entire breakfast. There's a little left, which I gobble down (don't want to waste food) but he did a pretty good job.

Now it's just the kid and I with nothing to do, except there's not really nothing to do. I still haven't mowed the lawn, there's some laundry I could do, I should probably wash the breakfast dishes…but what if these are the only days I get to spend with him? It's the first time I think that, now that we've actually done the paternity test swab. I was pissed yesterday when Bobby told me to take the week off, but now I see the wisdom in it.

"What we gonna do, Daddy?" he says, probably expecting another adventure like yesterday.

I look around at the dirty dishes and hold out my arms to him. "Let's go chill at the park."

~BDD~

I pack the damn diaper bag as per Sam's instructions, which I thank fuck for—and I think to myself that I wish it had more compartments to fit more stuff, then freak, because oh my god did I really just think that? What's happening to me?

Michael's excited he gets to go in Daddy's car again; I have to fiddle a bit with the god damn car seat straps, because somehow, overnight, they seem to have loosened and I have to figure out how to tighten them. At least Michael already knows to give Ironman to me; then we're off to the park.

When we walk up to the playground, who do we see? Stupid Cas, sitting on a bench reading a dumb book. He's also wearing a stupid trench coat in the middle of a hot day, I mean, he's in the shade, but still, what's wrong with this guy? "Wow, they actually let you out of that place?" I say walking up to the bench he's sitting on. Michael's my little shadow again, following close then grabbing my leg, probably rubbing snot into my pants as he hides in them.

"Not that it's any of your business, but I always come here on my break. What are you doing here?"

"I have a kid, a real reason to be here. Only pedophiles come to playgrounds without children."

"I had a kid once; died of leukemia, I come to the playground to remember him."

Fuck. Shit. Just, fuck.

He smiles. "I'm kidding, but you should see your face."

I grab Michael up like, leukemia could come and get him right now and glare at fucking Cas. "That's a horrible joke. It's not even a joke, it's just horrible."

"Just as horrible as yours. Though I wasn't joking, I was illustrating. Illustrating why you should think twice before saying something like that to someone you know nothing about. It could have been true." He's all fucking self-satisfied, just because he got one over on me.

"Thanks for the lesson, asshole." I start storming off; I'll take my kid elsewhere, thanks.

"I'm a writer," he calls after me.

I turn back around.

"One of the types of books I write is kid's books, I come here for inspiration."

Why is he telling me all this? Every other one of our interactions has been more or less mean-spirited banter, like before. The only reason he even knows my name, is because Sam told him one day when we were in the coffee shop where he works, to piss me off and get me back for something I did to him to piss him off. It's one of the reasons Cas calls me Winchester, to lord over me the fact I don't know his surname. I only know his first name because it's on his nametag. I shortened it to piss him off. "Congratulations."

Maybe I don't have to leave, but I do walk away with Michael and take him to the slide. "That your friend, Daddy?" he says taking his soother out.

I wonder if he remembers him from yesterday? "No. _We_ don't like him. Remember that." Stupid Cas.

First I try to coax Michael to climb up the stairs to the slide. "Scared, Daddy."

"Scared? Naw. It's not scary. C'mon, I'll show you." I climb up the stairs myself as he watches me from the ground and squish my ass, which is just this side of too big for the kid's slide and look like a big dumb, idiot, as I try to slide down. It's slower for me, due to friction in combination with the size of my ass, but I do it. Michael smiles. "Fun! You want to try?"

He shakes his head. "How about you and me and Ironman do it together?"

He nods. I hold Ironman for him as I stand behind him and he starts to climb the stairs one at a time. He gets to stair three and he starts to cry and turns around to reach for me. I spin him around and hold him to me as he cries; I climb down the steps and back to the rocks. "Do-oesn't l-like that Dah-deeee…" he cries from behind his soother.

"Okay…okay, no slides today grease monkey." I lean back so I can look at this sad little face and wipe his tears with my thumb. "How about swings?"

He shakes his head. I assume the teeter-totter is out if slides are and there's not much else really that seems less scary than a slide. "Does this place suck?"

"Suck," he says glaring at the playground. I want to laugh, because he's cute when he says it like that, but I don't. And I don't care he hates everything at the playground. In fact, I want to punch the damn playground for scaring my Michael, but I can't help thinking that I was never scared of the playground. I've always been a daredevil, doing all kinds of stupid shit. It makes me worried that maybe he's not mine, which is stupid, plenty of kids turn out different from their parents, but right now I'm judging everything he does against me. I hate this. It's agonizing not knowing.

Michael's not crying anymore, but I can tell he's upset. I think…I think he wants to please me and he's upset he couldn't do what he thinks I wanted him to do. I don't want him to feel like that. Fuck this place, fuck paternity tests and just…fuck it all.

I pick up a handful of rocks and throw it at an area where there aren't any kids. "You suck, playground."

I get a little smile. His special smile; just for me. "Think you can scare my Michael and get away with it? Not while I'm around." I throw more rocks. I get a little giggle.

"You want to throw some?"

He nods. I put him down and crouch behind him. He bends his little body down and grabs what probably equates to five pebbles in his little fist. With all his might, he hurls the rocks at the playground. "Y-you suck, playground!"

"Yeah, bud!" We each throw a few more handfuls of rocks and when I think he's satisfied, I think we should blow this Popsicle stand. Speaking of blowing. "C'mere dude." I pull out the tissue in my pocket and scoop him up to get him to blow his nose, he's smiling up at me with way too much adoration in his eyes. "Love you, Daddy," he says and takes his soother out to add a sloppy, wet kiss to my cheek.

I don't even wipe it off. "I love you too, Michael." I kiss his forehead.

It was a short playground adventure, so short, stupid Cas is still on his 'break.' I oughta stop by that place and rat him out, I'll bet he's taking a longer break than he should on company time. He looks up at us as we pass by and I know he's about to say something to me, but I stop him. "You can save it, Cas. I know; it's not nice to teach little boys to throw rocks or get mad at playgrounds, and whatever else you thought I did wrong. I know I'm shit at this, but I'm doing the best I can."

"We doesn't like, you," Michael adds.

I think Cas's going to be mad, but he's not, he's smiling at us. Not with his mouth, but with his eyes. "Actually, I was going to say well done, Winchester."

As I stand there with my mouth open, speechless, he pulls something out of the backpack that's beside him on the bench. "Come here, Winchester Junior," he says to Michael. Michael looks up to me to see if it's okay.

I nod. "Go ahead, big guy."

Michael makes his way over to Cas and Cas hands him a book. "Get your daddy to read this to you tonight before you go to bed, okay?"

He accepts it with a nod and because I don't want to look like a terrible parent in front of Cas who already thinks I'm not good enough to date, I tell Michael, "say thanks, bud."

"Thanks, bud," he says parroting me exactly and I can't help but smile at him. He hurries back with the book. This whole thing is fucking weird. Cas has never been nice to me, well, unless you count before I asked him out for dinner, he was a polite barista dude, but it was nothing less than you'd expect from the man serving you coffee. They're paid to be nice to people, but still not this level of nice. I can't figure this guy out, but my mind is spinning with possibilities. My mind hasn't figured it out in the short span of time it takes for Michael to reach me.

"Well, uh…see you around, Cas," I say awkwardly.

"Goodbye, Dean."

~BDD~

Michael and I go get an alarm clock, stop for groceries then I take him home to see if I can get him to have a nap like Sam said. His cold seems to be clearing up and I'm kinda proud of myself for that—I helped him get rid of it. I'm exhausted too, taking care of a kid is a lot of work, so I pass out with him for a couple of hours.

I make him the happiest kid on the planet when I show him how many more toys he has now and we and Ironman, play with those until I convince him we should watch TV. I decide we should have pizza for dinner and am proud and impressed when he's able to eat four large pieces. Seriously? Where does it go?

I give him another bath, which I'm expert at already and when it's time to put him in bed, I can't help my curiosity over the book Cas gave him, so I tote it with us to the Bedroom. I gasp out loud when I see who it's written by, though I should have guessed: Castiel Novak. Now I know his last name.

The book is called: Daddy Loves Me. Figures he'd name his book something sappy. I start reading it to Michael. The whole time he watches me with wide eyes, sucking away at his soother, all cozy in his pj's. The pictures are well done, bright and colorful. Did Cas draw these too? I'll have to check later, but I doubt it. A douche like him can't be that talented, can he?

_"Daddy loves me, I think, do you want to know why?" he asked this, a boy, to a guy with a pie._

_"Okay little boy, but you'll have to be quick. I've a meeting you see, with a fish on a stick."_

_"That's okay mister, if you have something to do, I'm sure I'll find someone to tell before noon."_

_"Daddy loves me, I think, do you want to know why?" he asked this, a boy, to a lady walking by._

_"I can't," she said nimbly, "I'm in too much a hurry. I don't even know why, just to scurry, scurry, scurry!"_

_"That's okay lady, if you have something to do, I'm sure I'll find someone to tell before noon."_

_"Daddy loves me I think, do you want to know why?" He asked this, a boy, to a bird flying high._

_"Okay little boy, but hurry, chop-chop, I'm late for my date with a broom and a mop."_

_"That's okay bird, if you have something to do, I'm sure I'll find someone to tell before noon."_

_"Daddy loves me I think, do you want to know why?" he asked this, a boy, to a bee in the sky._

_"I'd rather you didn't, I'm busy and tired. The queen wants more honey; if I'm late I'll be fired."_

_"That's okay bee, if you have something to do, I'm sure I'll find someone to tell before noon."_

_All morning he searched, he searched high and low, for someone to tell why his daddy loved him so. But no one had time for the little boy's words, not even the bees, the humans or birds._

_He watched the clock tick, it ticked and it tocked. He knew noon was coming, but no one would stop._

_Just for a second or two, so he could tell them why, why Daddy loved him, why he's daddy's number one guy._

_So he sat on the step, he gave up with a sigh, put his face in his hands and proceeded to cry._

_"Excuse me little boy," he heard. "Have you seen my son? He's the best person I know and a whole lot of fun. We like to play games and go places together. I love him before, now and forever."_

_"Daddy!" the boy jumped up and cried in a shout. "No one would listen, but I figured it out. Daddy loves me I think and I'll tell you why. He's there when I need him, he's always got time. To laugh and run and jump and sing, he'd rather be with me than any other thing! Daddy loves me I know, he's the best guy, he's clever; I love him before, now and forever."_

__  
Jesus Christ Cas. I'm fucking bawling my eyes out over a stupid kid's book. Michael's looking up at me sucking on his soother, probably wondering why Daddy's such a wuss. This book is horrible! The little boy's so sad and all I can think about is how no one will stop for just a fucking second to talk to him. If I ever find that god damned bird…I have a real issue with the bee, you can't even give the poor kid the time of day? What if those dillholes did that to Michael? They'd rue the day. Then I'm fucking thinking about Michael, my Michael, with no toys and on a porch in the middle of the night with a cold and thinking nobody loves him and shivering and clothes that are too big…he didn't even have his best buddy Ironman yet. Cas, why did you give me this book?

I stop ranting in my head, when I feel a little tiny tug on my shirt.

"Daddy loves me?" Michael says, his soother in his other hand.

"Yeah Kiddo," I tousle his hair, sniffle and wipe fucking tears from my eyes. "Daddy loves you."


	6. Michael's Daddy Is...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From the beginning of this story, I always knew the big 'reveal' would happen this way. It's a scene sorta stolen from Friends. Season 8, Episode 1 for reference. Make sure to read all the way through. You might want to stop for a second, but keep going...I swear it's good. #Mockpromises

~THURSDAY~

All day. All god damned day I've been nervous. I almost just drove over to Sammy's office, to find out, but what if it's negative? I didn't want to get Sammy fired. So I waited. I'm _tired_ anyway. Like, dog tired. Michael's cold is almost all gone, but he's still not sleeping well. It's his mom. He calls for her and I don't know what to do about it except let him cry and rub his back and fucking cry some more with him.

I used to be able to count the number of times I've cried in my adult life on my one hand; since I got this kid, I think I'm out of fingers to count, on _both_ hands. He hurts my heart. I want to help him and don't know how. Sam thinks he needs some kind of kid shrink. I'm unsure about that, but either way he says to wait 'till we get the results to the paternity test before we make any other decisions.

I even decided to wait on the legal paternity test. If I'm not Michael's biological father, then I just look like a numbskull having to phone and cancel my appointment.

Currently, Michael's in his car seat babbling to Ironman from behind his soother. I hear lots of 'Daddys,' he talks to Ironman a lot about me; I can't always understand what he's saying, but it's always sweet, which makes me feel like even more of an ass right now. What if he's not my kid? Just what if? Somehow, I've already got used to the kid. I mean yeah, I'm fucking tired everyday now, all I do from sun up to sun down is change wet and dirty diapers, play with kid's toys, watch cartoons, and worry every second about something Michael (is he hungry? is he sleepy? is he having fun?), but when he smiles at me, or laughs—especially when he laughs—it all seems worth it, ya know? And in the background, I'm stressed as hell, because I've been trying to figure out a way to reorganize my entire life, just in case he's here to stay and what am I going to do about his college fund? And _does_ he need to see a kid shrink? Sam also brought up that I'd need to find a Pediatrician for him. I mean Sam offered his and that's nice, but it seems important; I've already realized that, while Sam is invaluable for parenting advice, I don't agree with _everything_ Sam does, 'cause Michael's different than his kids. Do you need to screen pediatricians? I don't know. I don't know any of this shit.

But all this shit takes time, time I don't necessarily have if I'm going to work. Work's a whole other monster too. I can't see Bobby wanting a rug rat around his shop everyday—he put up with it one day, sure, but then he kicked me out. What if Michael's never okay with Sam's nannies? I'm not sure I can afford daycare and Neurosurgery Music School. My life will be so much easier if that little test says no and if you'd asked me Saturday, just four fucking days ago if I wanted a kid, I would have told you fuck no with a capital fuck…but if he's not mine and I have to give him to his 'real' dad, I won't hear that little voice back there talking to Ironman. I won't see his little face light up in the morning, just because he's excited to see me. I won't get to read him that damn book Cas wrote, which I still intend to give him a piece of my mind for. Fuck, I won't just get to chill with him and chat about what's better on toast: Peanut butter and strawberry jam, or peanut butter and Nutella, a conversation we had yesterday morning at breakfast that I think is going to prove to be a serious topic of debate in our home for many years to come…if he stays that is.

Fuck. I'm crying again.

"Daddy?"

"Yeah, big guy?" Sniffle. Oh god, what if his real dad doesn't know to call him big guy, so he doesn't get a little guy complex? What if he doesn't know how he likes his back rubbed at night while he cries about his mom? What if he doesn't like Ironman?

"We is there yet?"

"Yep. We're here," I say pulling into Sam's driveway and calming the fuck down. Just because I'm having an internal fucking conniption, doesn't mean I want anyone to know. I put on my most stoic face, as I gather Michael out of the car seat—which still fucking gives me a headache—and the diaper bag and Ironman.

I normally put him down and let him walk into Sam's, but what if this is the last time I can pretend he's mine? Fuck. I'm carrying him in and he can deal. I don't even want to let him go when we get into the house, but I want him in the room with us when Sammy tells me the news even less. What if it's no? If it's no, I'm going to break something and I don't want him to see me that pissed off.

So it takes a lot of effort, but I do it. Sam is unreadable. He's got his goddamn lawyer's face on, but I still know he's read the results. I told him he had to fucking do it and just tell me. "Michael, go play with Logan and Matthew," I say in no mood to be argued with. Whether he picks up on that, or not, I don't know, but he takes off to find the playroom, as I follow the silent Sam to the kitchen where Gabe is.

"Um, maybe you should sit down, Dean," Sam says.

"I'm not sitting down Sam, just tell me, so we can get this over with," I say trying to make it seem like I don't care.

Sam looks at Gabe and Gabe nods. In his best Maury Povich voice, Sam says, "Dean Winchester, you are _not_ the father of little Michael."

Oh God. This is the worst. I actually clutch my hand over my heart and I wish I had sat down, because I think my knees are going to give way. My whole body feels shaky and limp. I can't breath, Jesus Christ; I can't breath.

"Whoa Dean, calm down. Shit. I lied; you _are_ Michael's father. His biological father."

What? "What the fuck Sammy? Where are the papers? Give me the damn papers."

Gabe hands me the results from the paternity test that are sitting on the table. With shaky hands and a heart rate of a million beats per minute, I read the results for myself, since Sam's a fucking idiot. "Oh, my God. I _am_ Michael's father. He's mine. He's really _my_ kid." I look up at Sam. "Why the hell would you do that to me, Sam?"

"So you'd know without a doubt how you really feel."

"That, is a risky fucking little game, Samuel. I already know how I feel."

"Hey, you're the one who's always acting like he doesn't care, even though I suspected you probably did."

"Already decided yesterday that I was going to screw what was right and head to Mexico if that thing said no." My voice falters; I can't speak anymore and now the damn tears are coming; I can't really stay mad, even though I should punch my brother in the face for that one and Gabe too since I think their little silent agreement means he was in on it too. "He's mine," I smile, as I sniffle.

Suddenly, I have to tell him. I storm out of the kitchen, to the playroom. Michael's sitting like usual, just watching the twins instead of actually playing with them and also like usual his eyes light the fuck up when he sees me—I get to see that everyday now. Forever.

"Michael, buddy, you're mine. You're my son! And I'm your daddy," I say grabbing him up and throwing him in the air and kissing his face all over. He giggles.

"I know, Daddy."

"You did. You did know." Somehow, he always knew, I was the only idiot doubting shit.

"Play time's over now Daddy?" he says hopefully, like it's some chore I was making him do.

"You were in here for five minutes." Those five minutes felt like a freaking lifetime.

"Wants to hang with you, Daddy."

Hang. I taught him that. His dad. "Okay, kiddo. Come hang with, Daddy." It feels good to say that and know I'm not mentally damaging the kid. Sam and Gabe are both in the doorway now, smiling at me.

"Congratulations it's a boy," Gabe says now that it's 'approrps.' "And I say we celebrate by introducing you to what terrors kids are in restaurants. We're taking you out. Our treat."

~BDD~

We go to a local family restaurant. I've been out with Sam and Gabe and the kids before, I know how excited they get in restaurants and it's lots of repeated, 'sit down Matthew's,' and 'put that book away Logan's,' then the ever famous, 'quiet the both of you, or we're letting Uncle Dean eat your dessert.'

This time is no disappointment; of course, they're their twin selves. I'm no expert, but the way the twins act is normal, I think, for kids at four. Michael watches them, but he's silent. He's opened up a lot more when it's just him and me, but he's still apprehensive of everybody else. Sure, he'll do the shit I tell him to do, but I think it's still out of fear I might get rid of him. Michael's behavior worried me before, but something about _knowing_ that yes, I am a hundred and twenty percent responsible for him has just increased my worry by a thousand million percent.

"Hey Michael, can we see your Ironman?" Matt asks.

Michael shields his buddy Ironman from Matt in case Matt snatches him away. "He d-doesn't want to," he says with a deep scowl. Oh god, when he scowls like that, he does look like me. It's probably just in my head, now that I _know_ we share the same genetics, but fuck it, I'm calling that one and I say that's me. Not many people can imply with a look that they will literally disembowel you, if you hurt their loved ones. Ironman is Michael's best buddy, I know the twins won't hurt him, but Michael doesn't. I'm proud of him. Shy as he seems to be, he doesn't hesitate to defend when it's important.

"Papa, he's not sharing," Matt rats him out. I join Michael in glaring, but I glare at Sam, daring him to say something about it.

Sam laughs at Michael and me, probably thinking we're 'cute.' "That's his special toy Matthew. You don't like to share your Mr. Floppy. Remember?"

"Oh. Okay. Sorry Michael."

Michael relaxes his features, but he leans into me. "Daddy, we can go home now?" Poor thing's got tears in his eyes. He tries so hard to be brave, but it takes a lot out of him. It doesn't help that he doesn't get good sleep.

"But we didn't eat yet, big guy. C'mere, sit with Daddy until the food comes." I fucking love saying that and am going to say it as many times as possible. I pull Michael onto my lap and lay him facing my chest, so he can rest his head on my shoulder; I rub his back. Gabe gets the twins busy with a coloring project.

"I've got some more good news for you Dean," Sam says.

"More good news?" Nothing's going to top Michael being my son, but I like good news. "I've won the lottery?"

"Better. Ellen looked into the birth records and found Michael's. Dean, Lisa listed you as the Father. You're home free, legally. Ellen recommended and I agree, that you should still proceed with the legal paternity test to have on record just in case, but unless someone suddenly pops up to challenge you—which from the sounds of it is highly unlikely, that's it. And even if they did, the state always rules in favor of blood unless there's something terribly wrong and the opposite party can prove it. The Mother is usually first choice in these cases and the Father second. With that test, you're virtually unchallengeable. So go ahead, parent away. He's all yours."

This is better than the lottery. "Wow. It's like, she knew," I say referring to Lisa. "But why not tell me she's pregnant in the first place?"

"It's hard to say Dean. Depression is terrible and presents itself in so many different ways. Maybe she just couldn't bring herself to face you, in case you did reject her and the baby? But I agree with you, there must have been a part of her that knew she wasn't in a good way and it doesn't sound like she had many people in her life. Putting you down as the Father ensures he would have gotten to you at some point, it would have just taken a little longer if Social Services were involved to get him to you and they would have made you jump through hoops, which you could have danced around…since you were smart enough to put your little brother through law school." Sammy gives me a wink. He knows I'm still a little pissed at him about the whole 'now you really know' game and is trying to suck up. It's working and I'm too happy to be pissed at him anyway, but I'm still going to milk this for as long as I can.

"Well that's good. Go Ellen. I owe her some flowers or something."

"Uh, before you do that, just one small thing that you're going to freak about, but—"

"Out with it, Sammy."

"Ellen insisted she send her daughter by…who is a social worker, it's all going to be off record, but she was worried when she heard his mother died and that he's not sleeping."

"How much did you tell this Ellen, witch who wants to take my son away?" I say trying not to crush the life out of Michael, who I hope doesn't understand this conversation.

"She has zero desire to take Michael away, Dean. It's not like that. Like I said it's off record—"

"Nothing is off record with those guys—Sammy, how could you let this happen?"

"She's just going to take a look and recommend what you should do in terms of counseling. That's all."

"I'll decide if he needs counseling," I say pissed. "This is over the line, Sam."

"Look, Dean, I'm sorry. But you really are over reacting. Jo is awesome. She's also hot," he tries to bribe me.

"Even I'm not dumb enough to hit on the social worker, Sammy." Jeez.

Sam runs his hands through his hair, slicking it back like he does when he's really nervous. I know he feels bad and he doesn't like me pissed at him. I'm sure he really didn't mean for this to happen, but Jesus, now all the anxiety I felt this morning is back again, only it's worse now. What if this Jo sees what a terrible Father I am? I mean, I'm only a mechanic at a small garage; there are probably a million Fathers out there for Michael that are way better than me. I'll bet this Jo knows all of them and when she sees how great Michael is, she'll want him to be with the best one. My heart feels heavy and my stomach sinks.

"Dean, I swear on my kid's lives this is a good thing. You're not going to lose Michael—I won't let that happen—and if it should turn for the worse, we're all moving to Mexico with you, so please, don't even think about it."

"That's easy for you to say, it's not your kid."

"You're right, but you should also know that while Ellen—"

"I don't want to hear that woman's name spoken in my presence ever again."

"Fine. But you should know, before we had the results of the paternity test, my 'colleague' and I were also starting a case for you, in the event you weren't the biological Father. We didn't have much to go on yet, and it's really not my forte, but between…my colleague and I, we were going to get you Michael one way or the other. She was really excited for us and she'd like to meet him someday."

"Sure no problem. On the first cold day in hell."

"Dean," he warns.

That's when the food comes and it's a good thing, it ends this stupid conversation and I feel like killing something (Ellen), food will ease that need. The server helping our server bring out our order, puts Michael's order down in front of us, looks at him, then the second plate I ordered for him in her other hand and figures there must be a mistake; she turns around to start walking away. "Um, excuse me, Miss, that's for this big guy right here."

"But…" she says gesturing to the first plate.

"I know. Impressive huh? It will take him 'till kingdom come, but he can eat all that and probably some of mine, too." I've already lost four pounds having Michael. I'm not going to be able to feed the two of us on my mechanic's salary and send him to fancy schools, and I figure he needs the food more than I do, so I usually just let him take what food of mine he wants and eat a little less. "He's just like his daddy," I say.

~BDD~

"C'mon Dean. I'll treat you to some delights from the coffee place where you're in love with that barista," Sam says.

"I'm not in love with _that_ barista and you guys already treated us to dinner."

"This is in honor of our newest family member, and Sam and my's first foray into Unclehood, we get a whole night to spoil you guys. That's the rule," Gabe informs.

"Fine," I agree, but it's only because I know taking my anger over this whole 'social worker' thing, out on Cas will be enjoyable for me. And I'm fresh with insults, plus I'm loaded with a bone to pick. Not to mention, Michael really likes those croissants.

I load Michael into the Impala, so we can drive over to the coffee shop and kiss him on the forehead, pushing back his fringe. I finally get a small smile out of him, but it's not his Michael smile; he hasn't smiled like that since the Ironman incident. "Nobody will hurt Ironman while I'm around," I tell him then realize I threw him—fuck that was stupid; I now comprehend how big a deal him forgiving me really is. I decide I can't stand that look on his face another second, so I cheat and pull out the big guns. "I love you Michael."

I get the smile I want. "Love you, Daddy."

When we get there, Matthew and Logan go barreling into the shop as usual; Michael sticks close by me. If it's not one thing it's another. Before I spent my time worrying over whether he was mine, or not, not I'm worried about other things, like why he doesn't engage with anyone, but me. "I bet he's just really tired, Dean," Sam says to me quietly, able to pick up on my fears.

If only I could get him to sleep for one night.

We have to wait in line; it's pretty busy in here tonight. Cas, as usual is here. That guy's always here. I think about how I could make fun of him for that, but then I remember, fuck, what Cas said; I don't know his circumstances, but I do know you can't make much on a barista's wage. What if he's really poor and that's why he works so many hours? Not to mention, I never even tip the guy, I make a point of not tipping, actually.

When we get to the till, I decide to unleash my rant on him anyway. "What was the big idea, giving me that book? That's a terrible book, Cas."

Cas leers at me. "I didn't give you the book. I gave it to your son."

Sam looks between us confused, I didn't tell him about the book. "Cas wrote a kid's book, which he gave to Michael and it's full of jerky people, rude fowl and asshole insects."

"So that's his name. Where is…Michael?" Cas says ignoring my rant.

I reach down below the counter and pick Michael and Ironman up; sitting them on the counter.

"That sounds familiar," Sam says, then snaps his fingers. "Wait, you're the Castiel Novak that wrote Daddy Loves Me? I cry every time I read that book. Dean that's a great book."

Cas smiles and I give Sam my flame throwing Dean look. "Well I don't like it at all."

"I don't care if _you_ liked it. Michael, did you like the book I gave you?"

Then Michael does something that makes me want to rip Cas apart. He smiles at him. Why that thieving ass clown! Stealing my Michael smiles…I wonder if I can sue for that? "Daddy loves me?" Michael says to me.

Holy crap. How does he remember that? What exactly does he remember? I know I can't let him down, even if we're in front of people, like stupid Cas. "Daddy loves you, big guy."

"Daddy cries," he looks at Cas to say. Rat! Why's he always talking to Cas? He hardly ever talks to anyone else.

"I thought he might," Cas says to Michael, but his holier-than-thou voice is for me.

"I didn't…I…just… just do your job barista Joe. I want ten croissants, six of those brownies and…anything else Michael?" I pick him up so he can look in the glass. "How about a lemon tart?" I say. I don't know if he knows what that is, but he nods. "Right, six of those. That guy's paying," I say, pointing to Gabe then storm off with my kid.

Sam's laughing at me, but he follows after me, leaving the kids with Gabe. We get a table. "Wow. You really let that guy get under your skin."

"I hate that smarmy dick."

"Sure, Dean," he sing-songs.

"You be quiet, you're on my list too right now."

He tries to stop laughing at me, but the best he can manage is to quiet his flap with laughing eyes.

"Here's your bakery, Winchester," Gabe says handing me the bag, him and the kids sit down with us. "What happened up there?"

"Dean's in love with the barista, guy, who is apparently also a writer. He's the one who wrote, 'Daddy Loves Me.'"

"That's a great book. He's the author?"

"Why don't you two go have dessert with him instead? I think you two have the crush on Cas."

"Wow, you're right Sam. He's even got a nickname for him."

"I call him that to piss him off," I say handing Michael a croissant. Gabe and Sam each get a kid set up with a baked good.

"So pigtails then," Gabe decides.

"What?"

"You know, when a little boy pulls a little girl's pigtails, it actually means he likes her," Gabe informs me.

"It's not because I like him."

"Well Michael sure likes him. He hasn't even given me a smile that big yet," Sam points out.

"He has so. What about the other night in the bath?"

"He was happy playing with Daddy. That laughter was for you, brother."

"When I gave him the Ironman shirt and told him it was from you."

"See reason A."

I huff. "Fine, but he doesn't like Stupid Cas."

We all eat our confections and we're getting over the whole Cas incident, until he comes up to the table. "I thought I'd let you know Sherman Pigwind is going to be here two Saturdays from this one." He hands us some flyers, I don't take one pretending I'm busy reaching in the bag to grab Michael another croissant.

"Who's that?" Gabe asks.

"Did he write Apples in a Barrel, Papa?" Logan asks Sam.

"That's right Lo. Good job." I'm actually pretty impressed he can recall that kind of info at four myself. Sam nudges me. "What do you say, Dean? Gabe's out of town, you want to take the kids together?"

"I'm busy that day."

"You are not, Dean. Don't mind him Castiel. We'll be here."

"Irunman?" Michael holds out his buddy to Cas. The one he wouldn't let Matthew touch and earning me another self-satisfied gaze from Sam. I want to remind Michael that 'we doesn't like him,' but Gabe will just continue to accuse me of pigtail pulling.

"Hello Ironman," Cas says pretending to shake Ironman's hand. "Is he the one who eats all my croissants? That's an awful lot more than usual."

Michael smiles at the man's monotone voice, I'm not sure he knows that what he's eating is a croissant. I wish stupid Cas would stop stealing _my_ Michael smiles.

"The extra dessert is because we're celebrating," Gabe tells him unhelpfully.

"Oh?" Cas says.

"We just found out today that Dean really is Michael's Dad."

"Wasn't that rather obvious, Winchester?" Cas says to my surprise. That gets my attention.

"How was I supposed to know? He doesn't look anything like me."

"True. Lucky for him, he got your brother's good looks. Physically he's got more of his attributes, but his essence is exactly like yours."

"Ess-what?"

"He moves like you, he walks like you, he glowers like you and he also smiles, just like you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #moreMockpromises
> 
> Because I want this story to be a low angst read, I want to assure you that a) Dean's totally over reacting. Jo really is cool and won't even _think_ about taking Michael away. But the scene with her is kinda fun and cute, so I thought you'd want to see it. b) No one is going to 'pop' up to challenge Dean's paternity. Michael's really all his!


	7. Dean Winchester: Parent Zombie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I realized after the reactions of last chapter, I totally bombed on the joke. #Mockfail
> 
> The Sam tricking Dean thing was meant to be a little funny. I tried to Dean it up (so I knew it would be slightly less funny than when they did it on Friends) and make it different with the Maury thing, but I didn't do it right. Oh and it was Season 8, not 9. Double oops! Sorry guys. Anyways, please don't hate Sam for my fuck up, he really isn't an asshole. If anything Dean's more of an asshole to him. And you can watch it @ the link below. It's cute and funny when done well. 
> 
> Friend's: The One After I Do Clip
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f30-eM8w07Q
> 
> ETA: Update: Some have asked about GUW. I am working on a new chapter and should have it done by tomorrow night.

I've become one of those parent zombies you see walking around parks, schools and shopping malls. Tired doesn't begin to describe what I am and unlike at work, there's no down time. Not that I don't love spending every minute with my son, but I don't have time to shower, or piss alone anymore and the no sleep thing is really not helping all of that. I don’t know how _he_ does it on so little sleep.

Sam's right (again), it does contribute to his mood. I probably should see about getting a kid shrink for him, but I don't want him to think he's crazy. Conceptually, I know that's not true, but my dad never believed in those things. It's hard to bring myself to actually do it, wondering if it really is the right thing.

I took Michael to see my doctor yesterday. I hadn't had time to look for a proper kid doctor, but for the mean time, I wanted to make sure he had as a clean bill of health and get going on the second set of paternity tests. I've known my doc a long time and we have a good relationship, which is the only reason I trusted him with what really happened, since I wanted him to look him over and see if he thought Michael had been abused. His assessment was that there are no obvious signs of abuse, but that doesn't mean it never happened. When I almost freaked about that, he assured me he felt it unlikely in this case.

He agreed with my theories on possible neglect, but again assured me with proper food rest, and emotional care, Michael's young enough, he's got a high likelihood of getting past all that. More so the emotional side. The physical stuffs are minimal: Dark circles under his eyes, pale complexion; he said I was already doing the right things to help him there.

The biggest issue we left the office with, was his sleep and taking the right steps to help Michael deal with the loss of his mother…which are likely tied. No. I know they're tied. But how to help?

I really didn't like the sounds of the shrink person my doc recommended, but I did like what I heard about the pediatrician he referred me to. We have an appointment with her Wednesday, maybe she'll have another idea on the shrink doctor thing.

Now just to make it to Wednesday.

And I have that damn social worker coming tomorrow. Honestly, who works on a Sunday? I guess Jo. Though she did say it was her day off and that she was coming purely pro-bono. For some reason, she assured me again that this was an off the record visit, she was just coming as a 'friend.' Well I have news for her, she's no friend of mine.

Especially since it means now I've got to take Michael shopping for more stuff and somehow try and make sure my house is spotless—this whole ' friendly visit' is a pain in my ass. The house gotten kind of messy since I've done virtually nothing to clean it since getting Michael. How do you clean and keep a kid busy? I have no idea how to do that. I'm a man, we're not great multi-taskers.

So here I am back at the shopping centre and Michael's pissed at me. I made him sit in the cart since it was easier for me to keep an eye on him and on the little sleep I've had, my patience is running thin. I'm not good on low patience and I don't want to end up snapping at him, but that's the way it's going.

He's discussing his displeasure with Ironman right now. "I doesn't want to be in here, Irunman, but Daddy says has to. Doesn’t like it...Michael's a good walker, can find my own clothes…"

I kind of want to film him and show this to his girlfriends or boyfriends when he's older. It's ridiculously cute. "In my defense," I say to Ironman. "Daddy's tired and can't handle the stress of worrying whether or not I've forgotten my Michael in the diaper section, since my mind is foggy and I can't seem to remember crap."

I've already reached that insane level I've seen other parents reach, where you talk and you know it's stuff your kid won't understand, but you still say it to them anyway, but really, you're saying it out loud to yourself. Dear god, I'm talking to myself and trying to make myself feel better because what my kid's saying is making me feel guilty even though I know it's the right choice for the situation. It's a legit concern of mine though. I'm so groggy I'm worried I'll lose him; I'd rather have him where I can keep two eyes on him.

"Daddy is we done yet? Sucks," is the response I get. I don't know how everyone else is going feel about a three-year-old saying 'sucks,' but I think it's freaking cute. He also knows how to use it _and_ I know he learned that one from me. My job as a parent is done. Michael's becoming more vocal around me, clearly he's more comfortable.

"Not by a long shot. Believe me kiddo, Daddy doesn't want to be here either. I agree. This sucks."

I'm the worst shopper and because I'm so damn tired, I've been wandering around aimlessly, forgetting exactly what I'm looking for. We've been here for thirty minutes and there's still nothing in the cart. To add insult to injury, as we turn down some stupid baby isle, stupid Cas is standing there looking at stupid toys. "Are you stalking me, Novak?" I relish in using his last name, now that I know it.

"You're the one who comes into the coffee shop everyday, perhaps I should be asking you that?"

"You know this is a kid's store, right? Oh wait, maybe you're getting inspiration to write another child's horror story."

He thinks that's funny. "I'm here to buy my new niece a gift. My sister just had a baby."

Such a normal answer. I check it over to see where the insult is, but there isn't one, least there doesn't seem to be, but I'm starting think Cas is tricky.

"You're the one who doesn't look like he's doing anything here." He gestures toward the empty cart.

"We just got here," I lie.

"What's wrong with you, Winchester? You look like you're going to fall asleep standing up."

I don't doubt I do. "It's none of your business, Novak."

That seems to irritate him. He looks over Michael again. "Hello, Michael."

"Hi."

"Has Ironman been sleeping?"

I give Cas a death look, which he ignores, I knew he was fucking tricky. "No. Doesn't like it."

Now I'm intrigued. Why didn't I think of asking Ironman? Stupid smart Cas.

"He doesn't like sleeping?"

Michael looks up at me; I don't think he knows how to answer, so I help him out, even though I think Cas is being a nosey son of a bitch. "I don't think it's that he doesn't like sleeping. He seems to go to bed fine most nights and even takes naps, but he wakes up screaming and then won't go _back_ to sleep. He misses is M-O-M," I spell out. "She D-I-E-D."

"Oh. Well I'm truly sorry about that, Winchester. So neither of you are sleeping, no wonder you've been ordering the extra large coffee lately."

I rub my eyes. Just talking about sleep is making me sleepy. "Yeah. I wish I could just get it injected in my veins."

"But he does go down for naps?"

"Yes, thank god. It's just at nighttime, he's fine sleeping in the day—he's my little owl. We're due for a nap soon, after we finish with this shopping crap…so we're getting by, I just don't know what we're going to do when I go back to work," I blurt out. It's more than I wanted Cas to know.

Cas looks like, for once, he doesn't know what to say and I realize it sounds like I'm complaining. I don't want anyone to think I'm complaining about Michael. "It's not a big deal. You give up your right to sleep when you become a parent. All normal crap." Besides, I don't care half as much about my sleep as I do his. The circles under his sad eyes are pretty dark. I thought it was just his cold, but that's been cleared up since the day we saw my doctor.

"You need sleep Dean. Can someone watch him, while you get some more sleep?"

"He won't stay with anyone else. It's fine. I'm working it out. I don't need your advice, Cas." He's really getting on my nerves with his unhelpful advice. As if I haven't thought of that. Is this a new form of him pissing me off?

"Daddy," Michael whines, staring to cry. "I doesn't want in here."

"You're staying in the cart, Michael," I'm just this side of snapping. "Look Cas, I gotta go."

I storm off. Maybe Michael doesn't need special clothes for the social worker. Sammy did pick out a truckload already…

"Dean, wait."

"I don't have time for your bullshit, Cas," I say still walking away.

"Winchester, stop. Quit being bull headed. I've got time, let me help." He doesn't wait for my consent and catches up with us, coming to the side of the cart. "Come here, mini-Winchester," he says to Michael and to my fucking surprise, Michael _lets_ fucking Cas pick him up. He hasn't let anyone pick him up but me. Even at the doctor's office, he had to sit on my lap while the doctor did everything. Sam can touch him, but usually only if I'm holding him. He let Bobby bring him to his office, but as far as I know, Bobby never picked him up like Cas has him now. Cas sets him on the ground.

"You will hold my hand, do you understand?"

He grabs his hand by way of answer. "What's your name?"

"It's Castiel," his eyes flick up to me for just a second. "But you may call me, Cas."

"I'm Michael Inchester," he says even though Cas just said his name a second ago.

"I know. You're Ironman's friend, he told me." The two walk on ahead of me and I'm fucking flabbergast. "Where are we going Winchester?" he asks when they're a couple steps ahead of the cart.

"Clothes, then diapers, then toys."

Shopping is a lot fucking easier with two people, even if it's with stupid Cas. He keeps Michael entertained, while I grab more clothes in the same size as we did when we came Monday. I find some 'nicer' clothes he can wear for the social worker. Michael holds onto Ironman in one fist and Cas's hand in the other. I try not to be too amazed, but I have no other choice to admit, Cas is good with kids. Like really fucking good. He's stern and sarcastic and exacting, but there's gentleness behind it all. Michael likes it anyway.

When we get closer to being done, he doesn't want Cas anymore; he's gone from super tired, to ultra fucking tired. I know, 'cause that's how I feel. Now, only Daddy will do. "Come here, big guy," I say, plucking him and Ironman off the ground. Without a word, Cas takes over the cart; Michael curls into me.

"I think that's it. Fuck, kids are expensive." He wrinkles his nose at me, I know it's because I said 'fuck' in front of Michael. Screw Cas and his dumb rules. At least he doesn't mention it. He does insist he help me to the cash register and to the car. I feel kind of awkward just casually standing in the line up with my nemesis; I should probably talk about something. "So…they actually give you days off?"

"Saturday is always my day off, unless some kind of disaster happens, or we have an author coming."

"That's impossible. I'm in there almost everyday, you're always there."

"No you're not. You usually only come in on weekdays. You never come in on Saturdays."

"I don't?" How does he know my coffee schedule?

"No. Likely because that's usually the day we have _kids_ authors coming by. I assume that's going to change?"

"Just because I have a kid, doesn't mean I'm going to make him get into books like every other parent. Michael's going to play sports." Actually, I hope Michael becomes a bookworm like Sam; I'm just trying to piss Cas off. Pompous bastard who thinks he knows everything.

"Are you sure about that? He doesn't even like the playground."

"Well he's my kid and I'm sure he'll be into something a lot cooler than books."

"Does that mean you don't read?"

"I can read, I just don't like it. I'm the wait 'till it's on Netflix kind of guy."

"There are some really cool, books," Cas says, but it's not as defensive as I'd expect him to be, or maybe hoped he'd be.

It's our turn to pay. Cas only has the gift for his niece, while I've bought half the store again. The young girl at the till notices Michael. "He's _cute_. What's your name little guy?"

I cringe. I hate it when people call him little guy. Michael's not interested in talking to her, he's still awake, but barely. Cas actually looks him over, worried and reaches out to brush his hair back. "It's Michael," I tell her gruffly. Dumb teenagers. I hope Michael doesn't catch onto what she said about 'little.'

"That's a nice name," she says ringing in my items. "You two must love the crap outta him."

Whoa, whoa, whoa. Does she think Cas and I are together? "I do love the crap out of him, he's mine, as in just mine. _We_ aren't together," I correct her, using my free hand to gesture between Cas and I.

Cas can barely contain himself from laughing. "Don't mind him, he's just hungry, aren't you, sweetheart?"

I'm going to kill Cas. The girl looks confused. With one hand, I pull out my wallet and slam my bankcard down. "Wow, he _is_ grouchy," she says. "Maybe he needs a nap too."

"Good idea," Cas says. I plot ways to torture him _then_ kill him. No one will ever find his body.

Cas pays for his item separate, which is apparently normal for 'couples,' she doesn't question that, then he helps me with the cart to the Impala. I'm silent the whole way giving Cas the silent treatment, I open the trunk one handed, so he can start loading—it's the least he can do after that—and I get cranky Michael into the car.

"Doesn't want that car seat, Daddy."

"You don't want any seats today," I say, buckling him in anyway.

"We i-is goin' home?" he says in a wavery voice. Five bucks says he'll cry all the way home.

"Right now. Daddy will drive like lightening."

"O-o-okay," he says starting with his heart wrenching, silent cry.

"I'll be right back kiddo. Where's Ironman?"

"H-h-here," he says showing me.

"Good. He'll stay with you 'till Daddy's back." I shut the door. If I help Cas load, we'll get it done faster and I can get Michael home faster; I head around to the trunk of the car.

He starts in on me right away and he really shouldn't. I'm stressed and just as cranky as Michael. The only thing he was right about in there is that I do need a nap. "Does it really bother you that much that she thought we were together?"

"Yes, it does Cas," I say throwing bags into the Impala at a wild pace.

"Why? Because I turned you down for dinner?"

Yes, but I don't say that. "I'm glad you turned me down. I think with my cock too much anyway, turns out you're a real dick and you saved me a lot of trouble."

"You probably do think too much with your cock," Cas agrees.

"Is that an apology? You give shitty apologies Cas."

Cas sighs. "I turned you down because I knew you were a manslut, not because I'm not attracted to you. Manslut is simply not my type, I like a more…structured relationship. I like someone to be mine."

Holy fuck. It's hard not to shiver in a delicious way when he says that. His words almost revive my cock, who has been completely awol these days, but I'm too tired to even get an erection, thankfully. I do not want to get another erection over fucking stupid Cas. "What the fuck ever Cas. You're right, anyway. I'm a manslut and proud of it, it would never work between us. I don't date anyway. I just fuck."

"I don't know. I'm beginning to think there's more to you than that—"

"Oh my god. Is it because I have a kid, now? Your fucking uterus is aching for a kid and you want me for my kid? Or maybe you just want mine and never mind the manslut attached to him? I mean, I can understand why, he is the best kid on the planet, but forget it—you can't have him."

"Dean—"

"Stay away from us, Cas." I close the full trunk.

"Does this mean you are no longer coming into the shop?" he asks, not even denying my accusations. Must mean they're true.

"That's right. We're finding a new place—a better one. You won't see us ever a-fucking-gain." I've been going to that damn coffee shop for five years—since it opened—it kind of feels like I'm breaking up with Cas.

"I give you two days. You like the croissants too much," he says in that smug way of his.

"They're not the only croissants in town." Except they are. The only good ones anyway. None of the others have the right consistency, being either too flakey, or too hard. Cas's are almost creamy with that soft hit of butter and the tiniest hint of sweetness.

"You're thinking of them right now, aren't you?"

"Nope. Over them." Stupid Cas reading my mind.

"See you Tuesday, Dean," he says with laughing eyes then walks off to go to his car, or whatever corner of hell he came from, in that ridiculous trench coat of his. Good riddance.

~BDD~

Michael and I pass the fuck out almost as soon as we get home, but we only sleep for two hours, which is not nearly enough to correct either of our sleep deficits. For the record, I'm sure I could have slept a good twenty hours, but Michael naps like a fucking cat.

He looks a bit refreshed, back to super tired versus ultra tired; I still feel like I never slept and I've still somehow gotta clean this place up before that social bitch comes here tomorrow. My phone rings; it's Sammy. "Dean?" Sniffle. "Can I come stay at your place tonight?"

Sam's crying. "What the hell Sam? Everything okay? Who do I have to punch?"

"No one, it's…I'll explain when I get there. Gabe and I got into a stupid argument. He took the kids to the park to cool down, but I don't want to be here when he gets back. I can't look at him right now and I don’t want to get into a real argument in front of the kids."

Oh, that all? You'll have to forgive me if I don't call the National Guard on that one. Sam and Gabe constantly have nothing fights that add up to Sammy over reacting and taking off to my place. "Yeah, but you gotta help me clean." This works in my favor.

"Of course Dean. That social worker coming by is my fault anyway. I'll be over soon."

Five minutes after I'm off the phone with him, Gabe calls. "I know you probably want to punch me right now Dean, but, just…is Sam on his way over there? I'm worried about him."

The first few times this happened I did want to punch Gabe and I threatened him pretty good, he never forgot it, but when the dust settled after each occurrence, I started to realize it was classic Sam Winchester drama, so I don't get as bent out of shape about it as I used to. "He's on his way over here, I'm not going to punch you."

"Phew, good. I'll come by in the morning. I'm going to drop the kids off at my parent's house then I'll come kiss ass."

We hang up. Gabe always does some ridiculous thing to make up for these fights. Last time he named a star after Sam. I don't know how you top that.

"You hear that kid? Uncle Sammy's going to have a sleepover." I dare him to get sleep in this house.

"Sammy?"

"Yep. And we're gonna clean." He's my little shadow anyway; he'll have to help us. Maybe we can make it a game.

When Sam arrives, his eyes are red and bloodshot. "You okay, Sammy?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine."

"We don't have to talk about it do we?"

"No. I'll live. It's just Gabe being Gabe and I love him we just—"

"Whoa. Too many feelings," I say, but I'm teasing him. I'm laying on the Dean thick, hoping it makes him smile. It does. Michael's at my leg, staring at his Uncle Sammy. I know he wants to go to him, he just hasn't built the courage yet. I don't know what gives him the courage with some people and not with others. "Your uncle Sammy could use a Michael hug, big guy," I try. "It'll make him all better."

He still looks apprehensive, but I can tell he's gearing up to do it. Finally he hands me Ironman, wanting me to hold him for safekeeping. He may have let Cas _meet_ Ironman, but I'm still the only one Michael trusts to hold him for any length of time.

Sam crouches as Michael walks over to him and tries to wrap his tiny Smurf arms around Sammy's wide torso. He can't of course, but Sammy engulfs him and squeezes him to his chest, rocking him back and forth. "Oh wow! I love you, I love you, Michael, so, so much! Michael hugs are the best and they do make Uncle Sammy all better."

Michael pulls his soother out and kisses Sam's cheek; that throws Sam over the moon. With his job done, he runs back to me and I know I have to pick him up so he can curl into me with arms wrapped around Ironman. "Wow, Dean. He sure has come a long way in a short amount of time. You're like magic big brother."

I blush. "Just, help me clean, Sammy. Look at this place."

I'm not a clean freak, but I do like to keep a clean house. "Yeah, this might take awhile. Would you mind if I called our cleaning lady? I think we need help Dean, to make it look how you want it for tomorrow."

"How much?"

"She's reasonable. I'd offer to pay, but I know you won't let me, how about we got halfers?"

In this instance, I'm willing to go for that deal. I still don't trust this Jo person. If she thinks I'm unfit, she may get the state to challenge me. Besides, this is for Michael, not me. I'm willing to let Sammy pay to help out Michael. "Okay. Halveies." I'm going to be saving loads of money on croissants and Cas's expensive coffee anyway.

The four of us work on getting the house back in order. We let Em, Sam and Gabe's cleaning lady tell us what to do and we help. Michael sticks with me and I give him a cloth and have him 'dust' shit. He's having fun pretending he's helping Daddy and looks proud of himself. Ironman is with us too of course, Michael's trusty sidekick.

We do get the house done in record time, we pay Em and decide what to do for dinner. "We could just order out, I'm zonked," Sammy says.

"You're zonked? I haven't slept since last Saturday night."

"Man, I'm sorry, Dean. Poor little guy, he's still having a tough time, huh?"

"Yeah, but I have an appointment for Wednesday with this Dr. Bradbury, chick. If she pans out, she can be Michael's doctor, I hope she can suggest someone for Michael to see. I didn't like the sounds of the one my doc recommended. The dude sounded really stuffy."

"I think that's a good plan. I know you don't want to hear this, but Jo may be able to suggest someone too."

"There's no way I'm asking her that and having her red flag me as the guy who can't help his son."

"Okay, Dean, but I think you're going to change your mind when you meet her. I think you're going to want to date her."

"As I said, not even I'm dumb enough to hit on the social worker. No one can be that hot."

"I'm a pretty much all male cast and even I would do her."

Fuck. I'm even more screwed than I originally thought, if even Sam thinks she's hot…

"Don't worry Dean, she's really, really cool. Even if you did hit on her, I don't think she'd mind. Have you talked to Bobby?"

"Yeah. I convinced him to let me come to work on Monday. He told me if I was planning on coming in without Michael not to bother."

"Wow, he likes Michael."

"I think he likes Michael more than me. Don't tell him I said this, but I actually saw his eyes twinkle when he was watching Michael help me work on cars."

"I'm sure he adores Michael, but I think his eyes were twinkling at the two of you. He's proud of you Dean."

I turn my head away, I don't want fucking Sam to see me blush. "What are we doing about dinner?"

We decide on making dinner, something quick, and then we walk over to the ice-cream place. After that, we spend the next three hours on the couch watching cartoons with Michael, until he falls asleep on me, then we switch it to Archer.

I don't realize I've fallen asleep until Sammy shakes me gently. "Dean…Dean," he whispers.

"Yeah, Sammy?"

"Why don't you go up to bed?"

He's right, I should, but I'd hate to move and disturb Michael, he's already got a few solid hours of sleep on me, it's more than he usually gets. It's not the most comfortable for me, but I could sleep on a rock right now. "Could you just pass me a blanket? I want to see how long he'll stay asleep on me."

He's smiling his huge goofy Sam grin when he brings me back a blanket and a pillow, helping me put it behind my head. "You're a really good Daddy, Dean Winchester, Michael's a lucky kid. I should know."

He knows he can say that kind of sappy shit to me and get away with it because I can't punch him right now, trapped under Michael and Ironman.

"Go to bed, Sammy."

"Night, Dean."


	8. I Want to Date You Winchester

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For me, there's nothing better than Jealous!Cas. 
> 
> Mind the tags, there are new ones ;-)
> 
> My best gf is a Social Worker, most of her meetings are held in coffee shops...*hint* *hint*

"M-mamaaa…Mom-maaa…" Michael's been screaming that for the past hour and as I usually do, I rock him and bounce him and say whatever the fuck comes to my head, until he finally calms down for a bit. At least tonight he slept 'till three am before he woke up like this, that's a new record. Maybe I'll have to sleep with him on me every night.

Michael's got the most harrowing cry. It's like the sorrow is coming directly from his soul and I can't help, but cry with him. I only have the capacity for so much stoicism and then I break down. I cry with him and maybe some of it is for the loss of my own mother.

In any case, I'm just not good enough. I do tell him over and over again that Daddy's here and I try to sing him songs even though I suck at singing, but he cries on and on. He won't let me put him down and I figure that's something.

Sammy comes shuffling downstairs into the darkness. That man can sleep through a fucking hurricane, but I knew it was only a matter of time before he heard Michael. The kid's got a great set of lungs. He's rubbing his eyes. "Dean?"

"Here, Sammy."

"Oh wow. This is every night?" he says over Michael's cries.

"Every night."

"How long you been up?"

"About an hour."

"Here, let me see if I can take him for a bit, so you can lay down."

"I don't know if that's a good idea, but you can try."

When he feels Sammy try to pull him away from me, the scream is blood curdling. Then it's a round of daddy, daddy as he clings onto my shirt for dear life. "It's okay big guy, you're staying with Daddy."

That was actually a good experiment. I've often wondered if he's even aware I'm here, clearly he is and I'm glad for that. "Yikes, sorry. Poor dude. Anything I _can_ do?"

"Get me some juice for him? I'm giving up putting him back to sleep."

"Sure Dean."

Sam leaves for the kitchen, I turn on the lamp in the living room, it's a bit dimmer than the overhead light and Michael's cries die down. I discovered early on, if I turn on the lights, usually he'll stop screaming, but then he's awake and doesn't go back to sleep. He's still whimpering a bit when Sam returns with the juice, but he accepts it from Sam pulling his soother out with one hand, Ironman's on the couch, and stuffing the sippy cup spout into his mouth. Tears are still dripping down his cheeks, his face is red and his eyes are as bloodshot as mine probably are.

"Whoa Dean, you're—"

"Quiet, Sam." He was about to comment on the fact that I'm crying too, that's not on, I don't wanna talk about it.

Sam sighs heavily. "What do you usually do after you give him juice?"

"Whatever the fuck he wants. Sometimes we play with his toys. I try to get him to watch TV in hopes he'll fall asleep again. Sometimes he does, sometimes he doesn't."

"Have you ever thought of rocking him with a bottle of warm milk?"

"He's not a baby Sam."

"I know he's not, but plenty of three-year-olds grow attachments to bottles. He likes that soother, I'll bet he'd like a bottle."

I scowl at him for being so smart right away. My sleep-deprived brain never thought of that, it's worth a shot. "I don't have a rocking chair."

"I'll go get you one tomorrow, I'd love to do that for you. Gabe can help me, since I'm sure he'll be here in the morning to win me back."

"Yeah, Sammy. Just tell me how much money you need." I don't mind spending money on Michael at all, especially if it will help him, but the money thing is stressing me out, because I know I'm going to have to pay for that kid shrink and I know they're not cheap, not to mention it was another four hundred bucks at Kid's Galore Saturday.

"We haven't got you a gift yet, for Michael, Dean and you know we're going to get you something whether you like it or not, let this be our gift for you, with bottles. I'll pick them out and everything."

I only nod and give a gruff noise of approval. If he's going to buy me something anyway, it might as well be useful. Sam smiles. "Thanks big brother." He cards his large hand through Michael's hair and Michael lets him, so long as I've got a firm hold on him.

He pulls the juice cup out of his mouth. "Mama's gone," he says seriously to Sammy with his bottom lip pouting out like he might cry again.

"I know. My mama's gone too and your daddy's mama."

Michael looks at me. "Mama's gone?" he says with his soother hand, palm up and sniffling.

I hadn't thought to tell him that, I didn't think it would help. I grab a tissue out of a nearby box and wipe his nose. "Yeah, big guy. My mama's gone too," I tell him. Why don't I think of these things? Sammy's so good at understanding small children.

"I don't think that's going to make him stop missing her, but I think he'll like having yet another thing like his daddy. Have you noticed how much he wants to be just like you?"

I have, but I just don't know why. I give another non-committal noise. "It's okay to admit it, Dean. You're a good role model."

Michael's still interested in the conversation he and I were having before. "Daddy. Mama's gone?" he asks again to make sure.

"Yeah kiddo. Daddy's mama's gone too." Michael and I go through three more rounds of that conversation while he finishes his juice.

"You should at least get some sleep, Sammy. I think we're up now a little while."

"No way, Dean. You're up; I'm up. He is a Winchester, how about we teach him how to play poker?"

~BDD~

Michael, Sam and I got another few hours sleep from about five am to eight am. I took Michael upstairs to our bed. But we have to be up by eight to get ready for Jo's arrival, which Michael is not happy about, he's super pissed off.

I change Michael's diaper, but leave him in pajamas for now. That way if he spills food on himself, which he will, he won't get his nice clothes all dirty. I come down to the smell of eggs and bacon; Sammy's been busy. "Here you go Dean," he says handing me a large mug of coffee. I take a sip. God that's good. See? I don't need Stupid Cas's coffee.

I plunk Michael down in his chair and he glares at everything. "Hmm. He reminds me of someone right now," Sam says amused by Michael's expression. I'm sure he's implying that I have the twin expression on my face. I'm no more happy than Michael is; it's true.

"I hated having to wake him up for this Sammy."

"You should have just let him sleep Dean. Jo would have understood."

I don't agree, but I'm too fucking tired to argue with him.

"Is sleepy, Irunman," Michael complains. I notice that even though he will complain to me occasionally, he doesn't do it often, yet; I know that means he wants to please me. I had the same thing going on with my dad, only I didn't have a doll to talk to. "Daddy says to get up and I don't, want to."

Sam chuckles at him. "He's so flippin' cute. You've got trouble on your hands as he gets more comfortable."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm no psychiatrist, but it's fairly well known that especially in these situations, once the child becomes comfortable enough, they start to push boundaries, heck, even kids who haven't been through a parent death push boundaries. Michael will start testing you eventually and I predict it's going to be in a big way. He'll want to make sure he's staying with you no matter what."

"That's stupid. Of course he is."

"He doesn't know that. He'll test you and you'll have to discipline him, it'll be even more important for him to have structure than say, my kids. But it's going to be hard since he's so cute."

Crap. That gives me something to think about. So far, I've only had to scold Michael a couple of times and he's been pretty good, but what if Sam's right? I've seen Sam send his kids to what he calls the naughty step. When I think about doing that to Michael, I remember him sitting alone on a porch step and immediately nix that. Fuck. I am screwed. "I can't put Michael on a step, Sam. What the hell am I going to do?"

"You can still give him time outs. Just choose a different place. You can stay in the room with him. Some kids even like it and understand it as something they need. When Gabe's nephew was two, he'd suggest it himself and sit himself on the designated 'time-out' spot when he got overwhelmed. It doesn't always have to be thought of as punishment, it really depends on the kid."

Huh. Thankfully, I don't need to worry about it presently; I've got a hundred and one other Michael-worries to deal with higher on the priority list.

We eat and the food makes Michael a little less cranky. "Hey, why you cutting that in half and pushing it to the side of your plate?" Sam asks.

"Michael will eat more than that and I'm a faster eater, so I usually save half my plate for him."

"Half your plate Dean? What do you eat?"

"Um, I thought lawyers were smart?"

He rolls his eyes. "You know what I meant. Geez Dean, no wonder you're looking a little thinner."

"Good food is expensive, Sammy and I want him to eat good food. I can do with a little less."

"I'm not saying you should switch to Alphagehtti's, though we did live on that and survive."

"Yeah. Lived on it Sam. Not only can I not stomach it anymore, but I don't want him to know it exists. Even I know that stuff's shit."

"Okay, protective Daddy. But I'm sure you can afford a little more food in your budget."

"I can, yes, but you should see what he eats. I did the math and what I eat plus what he eats, I won't be able to afford long term. It's better if I just get used to eating less."

Sam sighs, probably wanting to offer me money, but he knows I will punch him in the face for that. He does take the bacon off his plate and put it on mine, I won't turn down extra bacon.

Sam also insists on doing the breakfast dishes, while I clean Michael up; it's shortly after that, Gabe stops by kidless since he already dropped them at his parent's. I make a point of telling them I'm taking Michael upstairs to dress him, so I can give them a moment alone to kiss and make-up. I don't need to see that shit.

"Daddy?" Michael says when I've got his pajamas off and he's just in a diaper.

"Yes, Michael?"

"We is gonna hang today?"

I smile at him. "Of course, bud. Daddy and Michael 'hang' everyday."

"I doesn't play with the kids."

"You mean, Matthew and Logan?"

"Yeah, Daddy."

He must associate Gabe and Sam together as us going to their house and when he's there, I usually make him 'play' with the kids for a bit. Play being a very loose term, since he just sits there holding Ironman, watching them.

Michael must be extremely tired today to be worried about that. Perfect. This social worker visit is going to go swimmingly. "No playing with Matthew and Logan today, promise. You and Daddy will hang all day, okay?"

"Kay," he whines.

I start to get him dressed. "Daddy?" he says again, doing that brave thing he does with his face.

"Yeah, big guy?"

"Your mama's, gone?"

"Yeah. My mama's gone."

"Me too."

At least he understands that she's gone, I'm sure he's fucking clueless as to why. "See? We're the same, then and I'm okay." It's probably the wrong thing to say and he probably doesn't understand, but he seems to be thinking about it.

The three of us (I now recognize Ironman as a person) head downstairs; Sammy and Gabe are making out in the doorway, I cover Michael's eyes. "Ew. Get a room you two, or better yet, go to your room in your house and fuck like bunnies." Someone should. I think I can say goodbye to sex for a while. Even if I had opportunity to, my dick's too tired to party.

"I hear we're going to get you a rocking chair today?"

"You had time to talk about all that, between your make out session at my door."

"You can uncover Michael's eyes Dean, we're just kissing."

I put Michael down, hoping he'll go play with his toys. Sometimes he does and sometimes he doesn't. Today he attaches himself to my leg then reaches up for me. So it's going to be a day like that. I pick him back up.

"He looks cute in that outfit, is that new? I don't remember picking it out," Sam says.

Michael's wearing a medium blue, long sleeved button up shirt, untucked, with khaki pants. I tied a large, white tie, loose under his neck so it doesn't bug the shit out of him and I actually brushed his hair. "Oh, Cas picked it out," I say without thinking, because my brain doesn't fucking work properly on no sleep. Of course he picked out something with khaki in it, him always wearing that stupid trench coat when he's not in the coffee shop.

"Cas? As in Castiel Novak from the coffee shop?" Sam says.

"Do you know another Cas?" I say irritated.

"I just didn't know you were hanging out with Cas."

"I'm not. I bumped into Cas in the mall, he helped me out and that was all."

"Listen to him babe, he's even rhyming like the Daddy Loves Me book," Gabe teases me.

I have read that book too many damn times. Michael wants it every night now. Least I got out of reading it last night. "Cas," Michael says smiling at the mention of the book and yes I'm well aware he hasn't smiled much all morning.

"Aw, look Dean. He knows we're talking about Cas and I think he likes him," Sam points out.

He does like Cas, but I wish he didn't. "Shut your pie-hole Sam. Don't you two have a rocking chair to get?"

"Yeah, Yeah, we're out of here," he laughs. "Bye Michael, I had fun sleeping over."

"Say bye, bud," I encourage him.

"Bye, bud," he says. Sammy gives him a kiss on the forehead.

"See you kids later," Gabe says.

"Okay kid. Time for Daddy to get dressed. At least Daddy's pretty," I say walking him up the stairs. "Maybe I can work it from that angle."

Michael let's me sit him on our bed and I pull on some black slacks with a thin belt and tuck in a white, button down shirt, with long sleeves, which I roll up to my elbows. I leave the top two buttons open and curl the collar down. Then I actually put gel in my hair, which I haven't done in a week. Michael watches the whole time fascinated. "I has some of that, Daddy?"

"You want some gel in your hair?"

"Yeah."

I smile. "Okay." This is going to kill the social worker. His hair is the right length for me to spike it exactly like mine. When I'm done, I slap on some cologne, the expensive shit Sam gave me for Christmas last year, and put a tiny little bit on Michael too.

"There, now you're just like Daddy."

I get a huge smile. "All right, off the bed. Daddy has to make it."

Michael tries to help me as I pull the duvet flat and fluff up the pillows. I lightly throw one at him and he giggles trying to hurl it back to me. It's cute watching his face as he works up the strength, with all his might and tries to throw it at me really hard. Of course, the poor kid couldn't fight his way out of a wet paper bag, so it comes at me with little force. I pretend he really got me good, he giggles some more. Our pillow fight is interrupted when we hear the door bell. "Fuck, she's here," I say out loud. "Um, quick. You got Ironman, bud?"

He runs to pick him up off the floor and holds him up proudly. "Okay, come on let's go." I scoop him up off the ground whether he likes it or not, since I feel rushed. I also think I see a smudge of gel on his forehead that's dried a bit, so I do the gross Gramma thing, where I gob my thumb with saliva and wipe the gel smudge away with my thumb as I'm rushing down the stairs.

I take a deep breath and open the door.

Standing there is the hottest woman I've ever seen and my quiet dick twitches a little, but it's still too tired, even for this gorgeous woman. It doesn't even look like she tried very hard to get ready for this date, I mean, interview…whatever the fuck it is. Least not as hard as Michael and I did. She's wearing tight blue jeans and a grey tank top with a skull on it that shows off her perfect sized tits. Hanging between them is a necklace with some sort of pendant attached and slung across her body is a brown leather purse. Her blonde hair is up in a ponytail, showing off her prominent cheekbones and god do I want to pull that ponytail out and see what she looks like with her hair down.

My charms aren't wasted. I can tell she's totally into me, having a similar experience. Her brown eyes are giving me the once over for sure.

This isn't fucking fair. Why does _she_ have to be the god damned social worker?

"Wow," she says. "No one told me you'd look like that. And look at you Tiger. You're just as handsome as Daddy."

She's already got points for calling Michael Tiger instead of 'little guy' or some other bullshit.

"So you gonna to invite me in? Or you want to ask me questions on your doorstep, Mr. Winchester?"

"Oh, yeah. Sure." I step out of the way so she can come in. "Please, call me Dean."

"So on the phone, I got the impression you didn't want me here, but trust me, it's better for your sake and mine that I came by. My mother, Ellen, your brother's colleague, got so involved with this guy here that she pretty much told me to come by or else. It all stems from her desire to be a Grandmother I'm not filling."

Okay, that's fucking funny and Jo really is _the coolest_. Still, she doesn't have my one hundred percent trust, but I am warming up to her, fast. She looks like the kind of woman to do her job if she needs to and do it well. I don't want to give her any reason to make this anything other than a friendly visit. "I mean what I said—you can just ask me the questions. I'll probably ask you a few, so I can give you the right answers. And I was thinking, why don't we go someplace more neutral anyway? I always forget it stresses people out me coming to their homes. Though you do have a very nice home, Dean."

Thank fuck. I mean, I would have liked to know that before I stressed about cleaning everything up, but at least it conned Sammy into helping me clean. "Any place in particular you'd like to go?"

"You know, I wouldn't mind going to The Coffee Shop," she says. "They have the best croissants. This is all 'off the record' anyway, we can just be two friends going for coffee."

And she likes croissants? Jesus. Maybe God's punishing me.

I do remember I told Cas I was never coming in again, but I don't want to tell her no. "Sure. I'll drive."

"That would be good, considering I walked here, and you're probably the only one with the car seat," she winks at me.

Michael's not _as_ cranky as I thought he'd be and seems to like the pretty lady too and he says so. "Pretty, Daddy." He points to Jo; I blush on behalf of him.

"Thanks, Tiger. I'm glad you think so."

Michael babbles contentedly to Ironman all the way to the coffee place about the pretty lady and a bit about Daddy and our hair and how his mama's gone like Daddy's. I consider that a win with the 'my mama's gone too' thing. Sam really is a genius sometimes.

Jo laughs. "Looks like your son wears his heart on his sleeve like you do, Dean."

"What? How could you know that?"

"I'm good at reading people, it's kinda part of my job," she says winking. "I'll remember that if I need to know anything about his life, I'll just ask Ironman. He tells that guy everything."

Yeah. Too much if you ask me. Maybe I do have to be careful of what I say around the kid?

We head into the shop and she offers to grab a table while I order. Sadly, I'm going to have to eat crow. I accept that Cas is going to be fresh with insults, but I don't expect him to look pissed off. He knew I'd be back anyway. If it wasn't for Jo, I would have stubbornly gone to St. Beaucoup's Monday morning, the second best place to get croissants, but they're mediocre in comparison to Cas's croissants. After choking down a couple of their crumbly pastries, I would have thrown in the towel and come in here on Tuesday, like Cas said. Stupid Cas knowing me so well.

I sit Michael on the counter like I always do and also like I always do, I'm a demanding shithead. "Three of your best croissants, two coffees and a kid's hot chocolate, for here and make it snappy—that's where we're sitting," I say pointing to Jo already seated at a table.

Cas looks like he can barely talk.

"Cas," Michael says pointing and smiling at his 'friend' Cas, oblivious to whatever the fuck is going on with him. "Irunman," he adds showing Cas his Ironman, expecting Cas to say hello.

"Hello Michael. Hello Ironman," he says with big smiles for them, but not me and for some reason, that bothers me.

"Aren't you going to tell me you were right? I didn't even wait one freaking day before I came crawling back for your croissants."

"Don't talk to me, Winchester."

"What?" 'Cause seriously what the fuck? I've said some pretty nasty shit to Cas over the years, me being a demanding asshole has only ever led him to retaliate in some way, never has it made him give me the silent treatment.

"Go sit down and get out of my sight. I'll have someone bring you and your date your items."

Oh. _Oh._ Cas is fucking jealous. And I shouldn't because, so many reasons, but it's too fucking good to pass up. I smile. "She's pretty hot, eh? My brother set us up."

The death look I get is worth it, but I do get out of his sight before he shoves a croissant down my throat. Feeling like I finally got one over on Cas, I imagine patting myself on the back and head back to Jo.

"Everything's coming."

"Great."

Michael sits on my lap, squeezing Ironman as we start our conversation. I'm glad only I can tell he's not as lively as he'd be otherwise, as he can be with me. "So his mother, D-I-E-D?"

"Yeah."

"My mother said he's having trouble sleeping?"

Did fucking Sam tell her everything? I didn't want her knowing that. I sigh. "Yeah," I kiss Michael's crown. "He wakes up every night screaming. I thought I'd take him to see a kid shrink," I tell her, so she knows I'm on top of it.

"That sounds good. I know lots of kids who have been in Michael's situation and they do well with a little counseling. I can recommend someone if you're open. Where do you have him sleeping now?"

"With me," I admit.

She nods. "Probably a good idea for now. Have you ever tried putting him down in his bedroom?"

Fuck. I don't have a bedroom for Michael yet. I have enough bedrooms; I just haven't set one up for him yet. "I…well there's just been no time to…I suck at this." The gig is up. She's going to find out I'm a horrible parent at some point—I bet she has a spidey sense for that—might as well be now.

Jo smiles at me. "You don't suck at this, believe me. I would know. Look at him—he fricking adores you, he looks up at you every five seconds. So you haven't set a bedroom up for him, you've only had him, what? A week? That's something you can do together. It'll also show him that he's here to stay."

Wow. Jo is cool. _So cool_. A different barista brings us our coffees, but he's one croissant short. "There's supposed to be one more, right here, pal," I tell the guy. It's the first time, Cas has ever gotten my order wrong, which means he did it on fucking purpose. If I send the guy back to get me one, I'm sure he'll know: I got the message, he doesn't find me here on a date funny, but I think that's too damn bad. He had the chance to date me; that ship has sailed.

"Sorry about that, be right back, sir."

"Have you taken Michael to see a doctor?"

I detail for her what I've done in terms of medical care for Michael and she seems impressed. Michael happily munches on his croissant and staring at Jo in awe (he really likes the pretty lady Jo) and I help him drink his hot chocolate, all the while feeling Cas's eyes burning a hole through the back of my head. Jo and I talk a while and she really is awesome. She knows a lot about places I can go for help with Michael, plus she keeps giving me praise for all the things I've already done. I can't believe I freaked out about this, I should have trusted Sam.

Just when I think my croissant is never coming, the little other barista returns with a slice of key lime pie. I fucking hate key lime pie. It's the only pie I don't like and Cas knows it. "We're out of croissants, sir. This is sent with our most sincere apologies."

I'm going to kill Cas for this. "Thank-you," I say to the dude. "Will you excuse me for a second Jo?"

"No problem."

"You mind watching him a sec?" I feel comfortable enough to leave Michael with Jo.

"No problem."

"Daddy will be right up there, okay big guy?"

Michael puts on his brave face again, like he does when I make him play with the twins, but he nods. I head up to the counter, which I can still see Michael from, he looks sincerely interested in Jo. I shove the key lime pie across the counter. "What the fuck is this, Cas?"

If Cas was pissed before, he's murderous now. "Bringing _her_ in here was one thing, leaving Michael alone at a table with that blonde bimbo is inexcusable." This is good. This is really good. I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing. "In fact, I won't let you do it," Cas adds.

I don't even care about the croissant anymore; I can't wait to see where this goes. Cas strides out from behind the counter and over to the table. I follow. "Come here, Mini-Winchester. You want to help me put cookies in the display case? I'll bet there's an extra one for you."

Michael's sold at cookies (we're definitely going to have to go over the whole taking candy from strangers thing). He hops off the chair and runs to Cas. "Cookies?"

Cas scoops up him and Ironman and sets Michael on his hip. He looks him over, fixing him up a little bit, making sure his tie is just right and that his shirt is pulled down just so. I watch in slow motion, it makes a good picture and there's something I like about the way Cas is with my son, even if I still think Cas is a major dillhole. "Yes, cookies. I think I have an apron in your size in the back."

"I will bring him back when you're done this," he informs me. I try not to laugh at the fact he's confiscating my son from me.

That would actually work out well. There are some things I'd like to talk with Jo about freely that would be better if Michael's not around, since I never know how much he picks up. "That'd be great Cas, it will give me the chance to have a proper conversation with Jo, she's the social worker that's helping me with Michael."

Cas is almost speechless, but he pulls it together enough to hold his hand out. "Pleased to meet you Jo, I'm Castiel." Yeah, I'm sure he's pleased to meet her.

Jo shakes his hand, but he's gone pretty quick after that. "Is that…your boyfriend?"

"Nope. He's definitely no boyfriend of mine."

"Oh good…I mean, it's just that, I don't really consider this work and I was hoping I could see you again sometime, you're hot."

Oh my god, the hot social worker is hitting on me, part of me wonders if it's a trick, or some kind of test, but I'm ninety percent sure it's not. I'm about to give her my most sparkling smile and say my usual line of 'your place or mine,' but I remember; I've got Michael. She'd definitely have to come to my place and even if she did, what're we gonna do? Watch cartoons and read Daddy Loves Me? Yeah, that's a great first date. I'd opt to sleep over sex, because I'd know Michael's going to be up screaming half the night. "I'd like to see you Jo, because believe me, you're smoking hot, but it just won't work with Michael."

Our conversation turns back to Michael and we talk for a good hour about children and dealing with death of a parent and she shares a few stories with me from her experiences. I tell her about my plans to send Michael to Neurosurgery Music School and she laughs. She tells me some great stuff and gives me some names of great resources for Michael, who I'm thinking about the whole time by the way. Does he need his diaper changed? Is Cas hopping him up on too much sugar just to get back at me? Does he miss me yet?

At the end she gives me her card. "This is in case you need anything else…and, if you change your mind. You're the kind of guy to wait for, I can tell."

I am? "Thanks Jo. I really appreciate you doing this on your day off."

"It's my pleasure, and Dean, you're an outstanding Father, I would know."

I offer her a ride home, but she says she prefers walking. After she's gone, I pick up Michael's diaper bag and see if there's any chance I can get my son back. "Hey kid," I say to one of the other staff members. "Do you have a behind the scenes place? I think my kid's back there with Castiel."

He directs me to a place in the back and I walk back there. He seems to be okay with that.

I hear Michael giggling and I don't even care I turned down a date with the hottest woman alive, I want to hear that about a thousand more times, instead. Cas has an icing bag and they're putting blue frosting onto some shortbread type cookies; both of them are wearing aprons, Michael has a Michael sized apron on. Michael's laughing when Cas pretends the bag is going out of control and frosting ends up all over the place. "Hey, do I get one of those? I paid for a croissant I didn't get."

Michael turns around at the sound of my voice and his eyes light up. "Daddy!"

He's full of blue, but I wouldn’t turn him down for anything, so I grab him up and kiss him all over. "Maybe you're the cookie? Should I eat you?"

"No…Daddy, stop!" he says between giggles. I catch Cas smiling at us, but he resumes his scowl fast. I set him back down and steal the cookie they were making whether Cas likes it or not.

"Mmmhmm, is good," I say with my mouth full of cookie.

"That wasn't nice Winchester."

"What? I'm owed this cookie."

"I'm talking about the blonde cookie."

"Whoa at least take me to dinner, before you start getting all possessive and jealous like that. This relationship's moving too fast for me, I think we need to take a time-out."

"You're not funny. Apologize."

"For what? Bringing my social worker here?"

He has nothing and he knows it, we're getting funny looks from some of the kitchen staff.

I can officially call this one a Winchester win, so I move on. "Is this the place where all the croissants are made?"

"Yes. The kitchen staff makes them fresh every morning."

"No wonder they're so good. Hey, how'd you happen to have an apron back here in his size?"

"I watch my niece once in a while, she likes coming in here to 'make cookies.'"

"I thought you said your niece was just born?"

"That's my new niece, the other one is four. I have many nieces and nephews."

"Wow, that's nice they let you do all this," I say gesturing my hand around.

"Yeah, it's really nice of my boss. He's a great guy," Cas says smirking. He must be his boss's favorite or something. Figures. He's totally the type to kiss ass to his boss.

"We makes more cookies, Cas?" Michael says.

"You just want to eat more icing," he says with a smile for Michael and I remember why I began my Cas ban in the first place. He totally wants my kid and this is proof. It just sucks that Michael's in the middle now.

"I think it's time to go, bud," I say. "How many cookies has he eaten?"

"Just one. I packed some up for him for later, if that's all right with you."

That look on Cas's face makes me feel like shit. He really was hurt by the whole Jo thing, but I have no idea why. "That's fine. Thanks, Cas and…I'm sorry. That was a low blow, but you were so mad, it was kinda funny."

His face is like stone right now and I'm not getting anything out of him, except, "your nice white shirt is all full of blue icing now. That was stupid to pick him up like that, Winchester."

"I'll wash it when I get home."

"It's blue icing, it's probably stained."

I shrug. "What do you care?"

"I like that shirt. You…you look nice today Winchester."

Now I'm the one with nothing to say and I feel fucking weird. He grabs a cloth and wipes Michael down with it and helps him remove the tiny apron.

Cas scoops up Michael and the bag of cookies. "Don't just stand there Winchester, you coming?"

Cas walks Michael and I out to the Impala, I'm still flabbergast, wondering what the fuck's going on, but I follow dumbly behind. When we get there, Cas stares at me a good long time. "I want to date you, Winchester."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My two-year-old nephew actually likes time outs and always suggests it to his mama when he's feeling the world is unfair. You know, like when he can't have a third cookie.


	9. I'm NOT Your Boyfriend Cas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This next chapter is my idea of humor. Yes, I have a weird sense of humor. 
> 
> Good news. The next chapter of GUW is half written! It's SO getting there.

"What the fuck Cas?"

He winces at the 'fuck' in front of Michael, but he doesn't say anything about it. "Was I right? Is this because I have a kid now?"

"Yes…no…it's complicated."

"It's not that complicated, Cas."

"I thought you were someone different before, I didn't think it could work between us, that's why I turned you down, it's not because—"

"Yeah, I know, we've been over this," I say taking Michael, he curls into my neck; I think he missed me. "It's not because you're not attracted to me, and you think I look nice in this shirt."

He sighs frustrated. "Must you always be so impossible? I'm trying to tell you something. It's more than just an attraction, Dean."

"Yeah, I figured," I tell him.

"So you know then."

"Yeah, I know. You're attracted to me, but it's my kid you truly like, a lot, and I hate to say it, but he really likes you. I guess we could arrange some play dates or something—"

He shakes his head at me. "Shut up, Winchester. Just shut up," he says and pulls me in by my shirt collar for a kiss, Michael still on my hip.

It's an extremely chaste kiss as far as kisses go—the kisses I usually have anyway. There's not even any tongue. It's just his soft lips, gruff and possessive against mine, but it's everything. The thrill I feel from that one little kiss is more than I've even felt from any lover—and I've had a lot of them. He pulls away and I stand there stunned.

" _We_ are dating now, tell 'Jo' you're off the market." He air quotes Jo as if she is pretend.

"What? Jo? Cas, I told you, she's my social worker." I'm not even sure why I'm defending myself to him.

"You may not have been aware of this, but I watched you the whole time; she was into you."

"Well, I'm not unaware of 'it,' I know she wants to jump my bones; she said so."

"I knew it! It was disgusting the way she was fawning all over you. _Touching_ you, _smiling_ at you, and you were smiling at her back—you're supposed to smile at me."

Things just got really fucking weird. "Smile at you? What are you talking about smile at you? I never smile at you."

"Yes, you do. Everyday. I get at least one smile a day."

"Yeah, when I'm laughing _at_ you. I make fun of you Cas then laugh at you in a mean-spirited way. It's not nice smiling."

"You're not as mean as you think you are. They're still nice smiles and I like them."

Cas has absolutely gone around the fucking bend. "Okay, I'm going to ignore this. Pretend it never happened. Michael needs a nap, so, uh, I'm gonna go."

"So long as you are clear on the parameters of our relationship, then yes, you may go."

"I'm not your boyfriend, Cas."

"Yes, you are."

"Don't I get a say in this?"

"No. You're clearly incapable of making adult decisions—look what you did to your shirt. In fact, give it to me. I'll take it to my dry cleaner." He holds his arms out for Michael and Michael goes to the crazy man without quam. "Hurry up Winchester, I don't have all day."

I don't know why, but I listen to him and take off my shirt, after setting the diaper bag on the ground. "Fine. Here. What am I supposed to wear home?"

"It's a warm day, you don't need a shirt to drive home in." He takes my shirt and hands me back my son who's giggling.

"Doesn't has any clothes, Daddy." Michael pats my bare chest. I smile at him then turn burning eyes on Cas.

"Is this some kind of prank for the Jo thing? I'm sorry Cas. Really. I told her I'm not interested anyway; I have Michael. I realized today when she asked me out that I'm not going to be able to date anyone for the next six years at least." Hopefully by then Michael will let me get a babysitter for him.

"You are dating someone. Me."

"I can't date you either Cas."

"Why not? Are you opposed to me? Am I not attractive enough? Should I kiss you again?"

Whoa, no more of those lethal kisses. "I'm all kissed out for today. I'm not opposed to you Cas…I think, Gabe was right, I think I pull your pig tails because I like you."

"What?"

"Some analogy my brother-in-law gave," I shake my head. "It's not important. The point is, I do like you, hell, I liked Jo too, but I can't date either of you—I can't date anyone."

Telling him I like Jo wasn't the brightest move; Cas's murderous look is back. "Not dating Jo; _not_ dating Jo—I swear. I'm not dating anyone," I say a bit panicked.

"That's right you're not. No one but me."

That's when what must be one of those Mommy-baby walking groups passes by us. They are all total MILFs and they've all got a baby, or child conked out in a stroller. Me standing half naked, in a pair of dress slacks with the cutest three-year-old on Earth latched onto my torso must be like a sundae dipped in chocolate wrapped in Channing Tatum to these women. I get numerous catcalls sent my way. This does not help me with crazy-ass-jealous Cas right now.

He opens up my white-smeared-with-blue-icing shirt and holds it up in front of me, shielding me from their eyes. "Have you ladies no shame? Get. Move along." He sends them his death look to get them going faster. They practically start running away.

It takes all my will power not to laugh at Cas. Michael does though. "Funny, Daddy," he tells me.

"That's enough. Get in the car. Now." Cas is pissed beyond reasoning right now, so I make moves to do as he says. Note to self: Don't purposefully make Cas jealous.

"Jesus, Cas. I have to put Michael in his car seat."

"Do it then. Why isn't he in his car seat already?"

Because of you and your crazy ass, I don't say. Mostly so I can get away from said crazy Cas, I strap Michael into his car seat as demanded. At least Michael seems highly amused by Cas.

I pick up the diaper bag, which is still on the ground and throw it into Baby's front seat. "Um, goodbye, Cas." I don't really know what else to say. This whole thing has been…fucked up….and kind of hilarious. No, a lot hilarious.

"Goodbye Dean. See you tomorrow."

"Uh…yeah." I think I'm going to get away with just that, but before I can slide into the driver's seat, I'm pulled forward by the waistband of my slacks for another searing kiss—this time, there's just the tiniest bit of Cas's tongue. Fuck…that's all I get?

It still manages to make me out of breath. "Tomorrow," he says again. I have no words, all I can do is nod.

Once I'm in the car and safely out of Crazy Cas's view, I laugh. "What's funny, Daddy?" Michael asks.

"Funny, Cas," I say.

Michael giggles. "Funny, Cas," he parrots.

And the two of us laugh all the way home.

~BDD~

I lay down with Michael when we get home and he's out as usual, but my mind is spinning. What the hell was that with Cas? Did I like it? Do I want to do it again?

The easy part: Yes. I know I liked it. Fuck. All this time I liked stupid Cas and was just mad because he didn't like me back. I've been rejected many times in my man-whoring life, but I've never been as upset as I had been over Cas's rejection—I actually asked the guy to dinner. I'm not sure I've ever asked anyone to dinner, not that I can remember anyway.

Now he likes me too, maybe even has all this time too, I should want to do it again. I do want to do that again and more…

I look down at my son sleeping, so peacefully and kiss his head. He'll be up in an hour, or so ready to go, excited for whatever adventures Daddy's going to provide for him. Looking up at me with those sad, blue eyes of his for guidance, love, food, protection…all of that takes a lot of time, attention; focus.

I can't do that with a boyfriend.

This little guy needs me, all of me. When I look at it that way—the answer's simple: My love life has to wait. I just don't see how I have time for anyone else except Michael and he's the most important thing to me.

And you know what? I don't even mind. I love this little guy so much; my heart wants to burst just looking at him. That's that then. I don't have to think about it anymore and even if I wanted to, I'm just too fucking tired.

I snuggle into him further and close my eyes.

When I wake up, Michael's fast asleep, there's still light coming in from the window, but it's a lot darker than when we laid down; I check the time: It's five pm. Holy crap; we slept four hours. That's good, but if I have any hope of getting him to bed tonight, I know I should wake him up, 'cept I can't bring myself to. The poor thing needs all the sleep he can get. I check the text messages on my phone. It's a crap load of Sam saying, 'where are you?' 'How'd it go with Jo?' 'When can we bring the rocking chair by?' 'Coming by at seven whether you're there or not.'

Sam still has a key to the house.

That means I should get a move on if I want to have Michael fed before they get here. I leave Michael for now and hope he'll wake up on his own while I'm getting dressed. I unfurl myself from him, slide out of the covers and find a pair of jogging pants. I throw on a blue t-shirt.

I grab Michael's green blanket, and carefully pick Michael up, wrapping the blanket around him. I have to do a half-squat to pick up Ironman, once I've got him settled against me. I bring the two of them downstairs. Once there, I lay him, still sleeping on the couch and give him Ironman, making sure he's cozy in the blanket then head off to make dinner.

It's not long before I have the little boy at my feet; he blinks up at me sleepily. "Hey sleepyhead, hungry?"

He's got wet eyes, but he's not full out crying. "Okay, come up here." I lift him onto my hip and proceed to do everything one handed. I've got everything chopped and ready to go, so it's not too difficult, Michael wakes up as he watches me make stir-fry. When Sammy and I were little, it was a life of canned and boxed foods, things that were microwaveable. But I got sick of eating that crap and learned how to cook. I'm not even close to gourmet, but I can make a mean chili and I can throw together leftovers in a pinch.

"Here, bud. Put the noodles in the pot," I instruct him, giving him the noodle bag. I help him dump them into the water. He should learn how to cook, every kid should—it's an important skill.

Once he's a little more awake, I pull out a stool and set him on it. "You need to go down kiddo, Daddy needs two hands." I can tell he doesn't like it, but I'm not giving him a choice. He's quiet as he watches me pull out noodles from the pot and put them onto plates then top them with chicken and vegetables. I cut his stuff up smaller and set it on the table then I swing him from under his armpits into his seat. That gets me a smile.

"Eat up, big guy."

As we eat, we chat in our own Daddy and Michael way. He comes up with random stuff that I can only guess has been on his mind and I give him some kind of strange answer.

"Daddy, what's this?" he says holding up a red pepper on his fork.

"Dragon's lips, they're good for your eyes."

I don't know if he knows what that means, but he giggles, knowing I'm being silly. He eats the pepper; yeah, my kid eats vegetables.

"Daddy I made this?" he says poking at the noodles with his fork.

"Yep. You're a grease monkey and a chef, all surgeries will have to be performed in your spare time."

"Daddy? What's Irunman eat?"

He asks that once a mealtime. "I'm pretty sure he eats Bits'n'Bolts, we'll have to get him some next grocery trip."

We talk on and on like this, I ask him questions too. "Who does your hair? I bet he's handsome." "Where the heck does all that food go? I thought I was a bottomless pit. I got nothing on you kiddo."

As usual, it takes Michael a while to eat. How am I going to get us to work on time tomorrow? I don't want to rush the guy, but I don't want to miss out on our mealtimes together, I don't want it to be like it was with my dad. I know I'm prone to easily falling into that. Like my father, I'll want to provide the best for Michael and I know that means money, but because of my upbringing, and having Sammy, I also know how important it is to be at those ball games, or music recitals. How am I supposed to do both?

I don't know about the future, but for now, I guess eventually, I'll have to get us up earlier, so we can have some morning time, when I have a hope of getting him on a schedule, but right now, it's just more important he sleeps as long as he can.

By the time Michael's finished all his meal and some of mine, and we've got the dishes all done, the doorbell rings. "Come in!" I bellow, the door's unlocked.

Michael and I walk out to greet Sammy and Gabe, who are smiling like idiots, as they maneuver the rocking chair into our house. There's a bag sitting in the center of it. Probably the bottles. Of course the rocking chair looks super fancy. "Wow, that must be the Cadillac of rocking chairs. For some reason I pictured a wooden chair with rocker feet, like the kind old men sit on in old timey movies."

"No way! This one's cushioned for your comfort and it glides more than rocks. It's got a footstool too. We just gotta grab that from the car," Sam explains.

"I'll go grab it babe," Gabe says giving Sam googly love eyes. They must have had a lot of sex today.

"Please tell me, you did not fuck on this rocking chair."

"No, of course not on the rocking chair, but we may have used the footstool for—"

"You what? Ew. Gross. Keep the footstool. We don't need it."

"Sweet, babe," Gabe says high fiving Sam.

"Told you he wouldn't want it after he knew."

"Okay, how about this conversation ends now and you two get that thing upstairs to our bedroom?"

They look at each other and burst out laughing like a couple of kids caught by Dad, as they move the chair upstairs. I turn to check on Michael and he's smiling at them from behind Ironman. Michael likes his uncles, I can tell. "They're pretty silly, huh?"

"Silly," he agrees, but then he looks a little worried. "They doesn't have their kids no more?"

"Course they do. Winchesters don't get rid of kids, understand?"

I'm not sure if he does, but he nods. "Where'd they go?"

"To Gramma and Grampa's house."

"Oh. I has that Daddy?"

I don't know what to say for a brief second. The letter said his grandmother's not doing so good, but maybe I should get my super lawyer team to find her for me before she dies? If she hasn't already. Hell, I don't even know if Michael's ever seen his grandmother. If he hasn't, was there a good reason? Fucked if I know.

But then I remember that he does have one Grandparent I can promise him, that'll have to do for now. "You sure do, kid. You've got Grampa Bobby and it just so happens we're going to see him tomorrow."

~BDD~

When my alarm goes off, I startle awake, but remember just in time that I've got a sleeping Michael on top of me. He still woke up last night, but the rocking chair really helped get him back to sleep each time. And Michael fucking loved bottles. It may have been overkill, but I fed him half a bottle each of the three times he was up. I got the impression the bottle was familiar to him, led me to thinking someone else, likely his mama fed him bottles too.

I reach over and turn off the alarm, which Michael sleeps through, but as soon as I crawl out from under him, he stirs. "Is sleepy Daddy…" he whines.

"It's okay, big guy. Stay sleeping, while Daddy has a quick ass shower."

"Nooo…don't leave…"

"We gotta go see Grampa Bobby today, remember? He'll be grumpy if we're late."

This is going to suck, but I leave him anyway, even though he starts to wail. Fuck. I run the shower, his cries stress me the whole time and I'm groggy, 'cause while he got more sleep, mine was broken and shitty. His cries are hurting my head as well as my heart. "It's just for a second Michael. Just to wake Daddy up." I normally shower in the evening, but I need something to wake me up. I feel like I have sand in my eyes.

"Doesn't like it, Daddy. Doesn't like it!"

"Then come in the shower with Daddy," I say heading back into the bedroom.

"No!" he says punching the pillow. I'd laugh if I weren't so freaking tired. This is the first real temper tantrum I've seen since the day I've left him with the nannies. As he continues to flip out, I undress and I undress him. He kicks and complains while I remove his wet diaper. "We is sleepin' Daddy," he huffs when I have him naked, I grab him up resting his bare little butt on my hip.

"And now we're naked. Look!" I say pointing to the mirror when I carry him into the ensuite bathroom. "Daddy and Michael are naked!"

That gets me the tiniest of smiles, but he screams once we enter the wet spray of the shower and I have no choice but to just put him down, so I can wash up, as fucking fast as I can while he sits on the tiles, bawling his eyes out. Fuck this sucks.

His cries turn into shallow, shuddery breaths, as I towel us dry, but I'm getting the darkest look. I think my son's plotting my demise. "Are you pissed at Daddy?"

"Nooo…"

"Yes you are, bet you're gonna tell Ironman alllll about it," I say poking his belly.

"Irunman?"

"Yeah, c'mon. Let's go get him, so you can get all the injustices of the world off your chest to your best pal." I lay naked Michael on the bed and hand him a new soother, since the other one he had fell out and is still at the bottom of the shower. I also give him Ironman and get to work putting him in a new diaper. I'm in nothing but a towel, wrapped around my waist, water is still dripping down my back.

He leaves the soother out, so he can chat with his pal. "Doesn't like that, Irunman. Daddy gets Michael all wet. I want to stay sleeping. Is too sleepy, Irunman."

Ha! I knew it.

I'm in the doghouse with my son, but the shower worked and I'm more awake now and I can laugh in my head at how cute he is complaining about me. I'm sure it will be a lot worse when he's a teenager. Oh god. Teenagers. I wonder if there's a way I can make him stay little forever, so he never has to be a teenager?

Once we're in the kitchen and Michael spies the set of bottles left out to dry, from Sammy cleaning them the night before, he gets excited and I think I'm forgiven. "I has one of those, Daddy?"

Sam said to give him bottles during the night, he didn't say during the day, but I don't see how that's any different than having a glass of milk. If he wants milk in a bottle, he can have it in a bottle far as I'm concerned. "Yep. I'll get you one right now. Sit down at the table."

It's too cute how excited he is about getting a bottle, he runs to his spot at the kitchen table, all smiles now and I put him together a bottle in one of the twelve glass ones Sammy bought for me. I'm not stupid, I know these have to be the more expensive ones, and I didn't think I'd need a whole dozen, but seeing how much Michael likes this, I'm glad Sam got me lots and the best ones.

I warm it just a little in some hot water then give it to my son who's waiting patiently. "Here you go bud, drink up."

That makes it easy for me to make breakfast.

I'm surprised, at first, when he only eats just _his_ breakfast and not part of mine. The milk. Between what he had through the night and now, it filled him up. I can afford milk, it's a lot cheaper than quadrupling my weekly allotment of good quality meat and vegetables. That eases my tension over one of the items on my Michael-worry list. I do up two more bottles to bring to the shop, filling them full, along with some other snacks and the lunches I made the night before. Perfect.

Not having to wait for him to finish part of my breakfast, just bought us a whole bunch more time. Time we can use to stop for croissants, but I don't know if I should. Cas thinks I'm his boyfriend now, me going in there is just going to solidify that fact. I don't want to encourage him, but I also don't want to miss out on good coffee today, or croissants. Damn you stomach!

I guess I'm going in. It will be a good thing. I'll be able to clear this whole thing up; we can resume our morning banter like always, but fuck, I'm already wondering if maybe I'll get another kiss, maybe before I clear things up with Cas. I should get one for the road, they're almost as good as the croissants.

I cart Michael and our truck load of shit (Ironman, diaper bag, green blanket) out to the Impala and get him settled; we head to The Coffee Shop.

I don't expect to feel all fucking tingly when I get there. I'm a bit…excited and that excitement pools in my gut making it feel like there are gladiators fighting in there. I can't even look him straight in the eyes. Michael is excited too. "Cas!" He runs to Cas who steps out from behind the counter to crouch and scoop him up. Michael gives him a soother kiss.

That's when something weird happens inside me. I thought these were feelings I'd only ever hear about, more specifically from women, 'cause I've just never heard a dude talk to me about them, not even my brother, but when I see my kid run to Cas like that and how Cas just accepts him—like Michael's his very own—my fucking invisible uterus twitches. I really like it and I have to hold back stupid tears. I don't know how it happened, but Michael feels understood by Cas in some way, like he does with me. He intuitively knows he can depend on Cas, I think he has since the first day. Kids are smart like that.

Cas fixes his messy hair and says hello to Ironman and asks Michael if he had breakfast. It's a natural homey picture, one I want to join, just for a second...until I break the news about the whole 'we're _not_ boyfriends thing.' I note that I should also make it clear that of course he can see Michael. Cas obviously loves him like I do, I couldn't take him away from Cas—that's over the line cruel.

"Morning Cas."

"Hi Winchester," he says standing, settling Michael on his hip; the way he says that is almost nice. He walks up to me like it's the most normal thing in the world and pulls me in for a kiss right in front of the entire coffee shop. Aren't PDA's a big no-no while you're working? I look around, but no one seems to give a fuck, not even the other employees.

Of course I like his kisses, so I can't help kissing him back. This is bad though; it's not good for the whole 'I'm not your boyfriend' thing. I can't let it happen again. Okay, I'm swearing off his kisses like chocolate cake on a diet.

"C'mon, I'm sure you don't have much time. How many croissants this morning?"

"Uh…just three." I get two for Michael and one for me. Now I've got to completely furnish Michael's room and I don't want to get him crappy second hand stuff like I would have had as a kid, I want his first room in our house to be kick-ass, for him to pick whatever he wants. I'd better cut back on some of the little things—that whole latte factor thing is a true story. I might have to cut out coming to this coffee shop all together when he's older. Hopefully Cas and I will have figured out a Michael visitation schedule for the two of them by then.

"You is gonna get us lots of those things Daddy?"

Crap. He's already hungry, I'll have to give him one now, which means only two left for later, I'd better save both the extra for him just in case those bottles don't fill him up. "Yep, I got you three, bud."

Cas looks at me funny. "What are you going to eat, Winchester?"

"I packed a lunch."

"You've lost weight. What's going on?"

"None of your god damned business." There, maybe if I'm asshole enough, he'll just break us off and save me the trouble. "Can you just get the croissants and the coffee? We need to go." I'm not about to tell Cas about my financial woes.

He's looking me over as he hands Michael back. "I don't know what bee is in your bonnet this morning Winchester, but I hope you're in a better mood after work."

"Not likely. C'mon. Hurry up."

I head to the counter to pay as he orders my coffee from the barista on bar this morning. As he puts my order together, I fiddle with Michael's shirt, which has risen up from him being passed to me and run a quick hand through his hair to mess it up and undo all the tidying Cas did to it.

Cas personally hands me my stuff. He usually hands me my baked goods, but the barista is usually the one who gives me my coffee, today it's Cas. "What's with the personal service this morning?"

"How about thank-you?"

"Is this because you think we're dating? We're not. I already told you, I don't have time to date." There, I fucking said it. I hope it gets through this time. I'm already tired and trying to convince him is proving to be more exhausting than it's worth.

He ignores everything I say. "You're being ridiculous, it's because you've had no sleep and are clearly not eating enough. What time are you done work?"

"Between four and six. It depends on the day."

"Okay. Text me when you're on your way back here at this number," he says handing me a card with his cell number written on it. "I'll go to the market and get groceries for dinner. I walk to work, so you can just swing by to pick me up."

"What? Cas. Get it through your thick skull, I'm not your boyfriend."

"Yes Winchester. You are. See you later."

I get yet another PG-13 kiss that does very R-rated things to my insides and he pushes me out the fucking door.

~BDD~

I'm pissed at Cas all the way to work. Who does he think he is? Telling me what to do? Hell, telling me I'm his boyfriend. Come to think of it, he's always telling me what to do. It's been the theme of our 'relationship' all the way along.

Well I will pick him up and if he's dumb enough to provide free dinner for Michael and I, I'll let him, but then that's it. Us as boyfriends I mean. I'll still go into the shop, Michael shouldn't have to suffer, he might still want to make cookies with his friend Cas and stuff, but Cas and I are through.

Besides, can you really picture us as boyfriends? I can't think of anything more ridiculous. We fight all the time. Can't even have one pleasant morning interaction with the dude and not want to punch him in the face, or piss him off in some way. I _like_ grinding his gears. Someone needs to. He's way too high on his horse. If we're dating, I'll have to be nice to him and shit, his ego will get out of hand. Universes will explode; time will implode on itself. Cas and I bring balance to the force by needling each other everyday, I'm sure of it.

I reach into the bag to grab a croissant, to hand to Michael, but my hand doesn't have to extend as far into the bag as I expect. Come to think of it, it's a pretty big bag for three croissants. Cas and I are going to have to have a chat about resource waste management. The environment can't handle him wasting large bags on three croissants.

I dig around with my hand in the bag and feel what can only be at minimum, eight croissants. I _know_ I only paid for three. Holy shit. Cas fucking _stole_ a shit load of croissants from his work for Michael and I.

Feeling like a thief (I even fucking look around to see if the pastry police are on my tail) I hand one to Michael and as I do, a little note falls into my lap. "Mmmhm, like it Daddy!" Michael says taking the croissant from me, as I move my attention to the note.

It says:

_Please have a smile for me later. I missed it this morning. Cas_

He even signed his name 'Cas,' like I call him. His note is…sweet. My cheeks heat and I think about him kissing me twice this morning. He's also concerned enough about my recent weight loss that he stole for me and is buying us dinner. Wow. I think he really does fucking care about me. I know he cares about Michael, but I was wrong, it's not just Michael. He really wants to be with me.

The gladiators are back, fighting a fucking war in my stomach. It's getting harder to convince myself not to do this. I know I'm right; I don't have time for dating, there's no time for sex or moonlight walks…

But there always seems to be time for Cas and Cas always seems to have time for me. For Michael and me.


	10. Grampa Bobby

I carry all our shit into the shop, Michael's close behind me. Bobby comes to the door of his office when he hears us come in. "Well, looks like you got your daddy to work on time," Bobby says to Michael with his arms crossed over his chest.

I crouch to Michael's level, letting the diaper bag rest on the ground. "Hey bud, go say hi to Grampa Bobby," I coax him quietly.

He puts on that brave face I know well and gets as close to Bobby as he dares. "Hi Grampa Bobby."

Bobby tries not to, but even his gruff façade breaks from Michael's cute powers. Michael runs back to me and grabs onto my leg. I tousle his hair. "I knew he was yours," Bobby says, in a 'for the record' sort of way.

"You did?"

"Yep. He's a lot like you, you know. Got your spirit, reminds me of John before…well, before."

I get his meaning and thank fuck, that's as sappy as Bobby gets. "Come with Grampa Bobby, I've got a welcome to the family present for yah."

I pick up the diaper bag again with the green blanket slung over it and our lunches; we follow Bobby into the locker room. "Get him to open the locker beside yours."

I set everything down, pluck him up and show him where to pull; the locker isn't locked. When he opens the door, I get excited and look at Bobby with wide eyes. He can't hold back his smile this time. "Go on. Get him dressed. Come show me."

Bobby leaves and I take out the little tiny pair of coveralls that Bobby had to have had custom made. I have Michael dressed in the clothes that were covered in grease his first day in the shop, but looks like it won't matter from now on. "Look! You can be an official-official grease monkey, just like Daddy."

I help Michael slip them on and they fit really well, almost too well, with just a little bit of room to grow. They say 'Winchester' on the back and there's a patch, of Bobby's shop's logo, sewn onto the left breast, just under the pocket. When he's all zipped in, I stand and admire, proud. I open my locker and dress in my set. "See? Just like Daddy," I say when I'm finished.

He pats himself just underneath his ribcage with a flat palm. "I has some too Daddy," he says with a great big Michael smile.

"Yeah bud, we're the same." Now I know how he feels always wanting to be like me, 'cause it sure feels good being like him right now. I stuff all Michael's crap into my locker, grabbing out one of my stolen croissants and giving it to him (since I have a fucking treasure chest full of them) and I take Michael to show him off to Bobby.

This time, Bobby's in his office. "Lookit you kid! Fits great."

Michael's proud, Ironman in one hand, a croissant in the other. I've got his soother. "How did you get them to fit so well Bobby? I can't see him letting you measure him."

"Boy, I can guess a wrench for a bolt at a hundred paces, you think I can't figure out the measurements for one child? I got the lady to make them a bit bigger, so he would have a bit of room to grow. From what I saw him eat that one day, I imagine he'll be doing some growing."

I try and weird Bobby out by getting Michael to give him a hug and say thank-you for the coveralls, but as it turns out, Michael hugs are even appreciated by Bobby. He runs back to me though, Stupid Cas still being the only one he'll stay with. I can still call him stupid Cas, can't I? I sure hope so, 'cause the whole thing is stupid. Stupid Cas making me feel 'feelings' for him, confusing our relationship. We're supposed to hate each other, not be boyfriends.

After that, I take Michael into the back and we get to work. Benny's already got some music playing. "Hey Benny. How was last week?"

"Slow. You didn't miss much. It was a lot of dicking around," he says sliding out from under the car he's already working on. Benny likes to get here earlier, which is good. I can't imagine I'm always going to be on time now that I've got Michael. "This week isn't that much busier, brother."

I know what he's implying. "It's better we get into routine. I think he'll enjoy hanging out with us, won't you pal?"

Michael smiles at me.

My first car is easy and I'm able to teach Michael a little about tools. I lay out three different ones and show him, which one to pass me. I have to keep pointing and showing him which one I mean, but after an hour of that, he gets which one I mean and starts to know which one I'm referring to.

"He's pretty good, Dean," Benny says. "Most kids can't sit still, but look, he hangs off your every word."

"Sam said he was going to start acting out at some point. He had a freaking fit this morning."

Benny shrugs. "Hard to say. I don't know a lot, just some based on my observations with my nieces and nephews. Maybe you'll luck out."

I sure as hell hope so.

The next job isn't so easy. I have to remove the top half of the engine block to get to the gasket of the upper intake manifold. "Michael, you've got to sit right there with Ironman, or go see Grampa Bobby, which?"

"Irunman," he chooses.

"Okay, but you have to be a good boy and sit." I pull out some different sized wrenches he can 'arrange.' "Here, organize these for Daddy." He's long ago finished his croissant and has his soother in his mouth; I'm not too worried he'll put things in his mouth; haven't seen him do that with anything yet, except food.

"Will, Daddy." He's like my little solider on a mission. I'd tousle his hair if my hand wasn't full of grease.

I work for a bit and check on him about every five minutes or so. He's got Ironman propped up against the toolbox and he arranges then rearranges the set of wrenches I gave him. I remember a conversation I had with Sam once about praising kids. He praises his every five seconds and I thought that was a bit much, but now I see why he does it. Every little thing your kid does, is fucking Einstein level genius. I should probably tell him so. "Good job, bud. Those look nice."

He gives me a beaming smile.

After a bit longer I hear Michael mumbling something from behind his soother. It sounds almost like a song. "La la la, la la la, goes to sleep Mi-chael. La la la, la la la, goes to sleep Mi-chael…"

Benny laughs. "Cute. Did you teach him that?"

I shake my head, studying him a moment. "No. I can't make up shit that good," I joke, but I really can't.

"Michael?"

"Daddy?"

"What song is that?"

"The Michael song," he tells me happily.

"Duh, Daddy," Benny says.

"Hush, you. Did Michael make up that song?"

"No Daddy."

I swear to god, trying to get information out of a three-year-old, is like interrogating an international spy. You only get one bit of knowledge at a time and you have to ask the right questions.

"Where did you learn that song?" In my head, I'm guessing his mama, but I don't want to say so just in case. He doesn't seem to talk about her much, except to scream about her at night. Though now there's the ever popular 'Daddy's mama's gone,' conversation we have a few times a night now…least we did last night and I predict it will continue.

"Nicky."

Nicky? Nick. Fucking Nick taught him that song; made it up too by the sounds of it. I feel a bit…creeped out learning that. I shouldn't. I have to admit it sounds like kind of a nice thing and it makes me feel a bit better to know that someone was trying to put him to sleep with a nice song, but Michael's never talked about Nick. Not to mention, I don't care what kind of 'nice' songs he made up for my son, him leaving Michael on the porch erases any kind deed he could ever do. Like I'm talking, he could save a bus load of puppies and babies from falling off a cliff, invent the cure for cancer, bring peace to the whole world and I would still think he's the hugest dick of all time because he left my son on a fucking porch in the middle of the night, shivering by himself. Just thinking about it makes me want to fucking kill Nick.

And why the hell would Michael call him Nicky? That sounds affectionate, like maybe they had a good relationship. That worries me a bit somehow. Michael's still singing the song though and it's making him happy and he's smiling behind his soother as he 'organizes' my wrenches. Maybe it means a good thing? Maybe before he was the huge dick who left my son on a porch, he was the nice guy who made up songs for him and tried to get him to sleep and who my son liked enough to call Nicky? One thing I know about my son, he may be a small timid thing most of the time, but if he doesn't like you, he sure isn't calling you Nicky and letting you sing him songs. Okay, so officially, Nick is still a bag of dicks, but before he was a bag of dicks he was kind of okay to Michael and I'm glad about that. Suddenly, I want to know a whole lot more about 'Nicky.'

When I'm halfway through the four-hour job, I wash up a bit and take a break, so I can see if Michael will take a nap in Bobby's office. I'm a little jealous that I won't get to nap today with him. Not only will I miss snuggling with him, but I'm going to miss the sleep—I'm bagged. It' important he gets the sleep though. It also means I won't really have time to eat lunch, but I do sit my sandwich beside me as I lay Michael across me on Bobby's couch and let him drink from one of the bottles I brought him, while I periodically take bites and rub at my tired eyes.

Bobby laughs his whiskey-jack laugh at me. "Parenting is tirin' ain't it son?"

"Yeah, but I don't mind." I don't tell him the whole story, or he might tell me to go home.

"I'm sure you don't. Your dad used to say the same thing you know. He'd be dead on his feet after some stupid number of shifts, but come hell or high water, he was going to afford a decent house for y'all."

And he did. The house I live in now was a bit of a fixer upper, but it was in a good neighborhood (still is) and it had good bones. Between shifts, Dad, Sammy and I would fix and remodel stuff. Jesus. When did Dad ever sleep? Of course, there was still a lot to do to the place after he died, so I kept working on it. By the time Sammy was done college, I was able to have the place in the state she is now. I've done a lot of nice work and I plan on a bit more. I'm looking forward to teaching Michael.

"I know, Bobby. He was a good man."

"You are too, son. I hope you know that."

What is it with everyone lately? Even Bobby with the Broments? Jesus. Have I slipped into some alternate Bro-universe?

I'm enjoying watching Michael pass out, as he lazily sucks his bottle and twists at his hair with his free hand, it's making it hard for me to keep my eyes open, but I'm startled awake when there's a knock on Bobby's office door.

I do a double take when I see fucking Cas standing there. Bobby narrows his eyes at him. "Hello. You must be Bobby, my name is Castiel Novak. I'm Dean's boyfriend."

I'm too tired…too fucking tired to even imagine how I'd kill him right now.

"Dean's…boyfriend?"

Bobby's shocked because I've never had a boyfriend, or girlfriend in my adult life. "Dean?"

It's too complicated to try and explain to Bobby right now, so I just go with, "yeah. Sorry, it's kinda new. This is Cas."

"Oh, well then. It's a pleasure to meet you, Cas." Bobby's whole demeanor changes and he lights up with a big smile for Cas. I know what Bobby's thinking. He figures if I've 'chosen him' to be my boyfriend, there must be something special to him…Cas is special all right, if he only knew.

"Anyway, sorry to interrupt, but I couldn't stop thinking about you when you left the coffee shop this morning, Winchester. I was concerned. I thought I should stop in, so you could at least have lunch."

"Well, sorry you came down here for nothing. I'm fine Cas."

Michael, who's in and out of sleep, his eyelids flipping open and closed, spies Cas and reaches for him with his free hand. Cas naturally picks him up and settles him against his chest, Michael turns his head so it's lying on Cas's shoulder and he can still finish the rest of his bottle as Cas sways him back and forth.

Bobby watches in utter amazement. "Wow. Why do I have the feeling if I tried to do that, he would have screamed?"

Because he would have, I don’t say. Stupid Cas and his stupid magical powers.

"He likes this guy, eh, Dean?"

I nod and rub my eyes. Cas swaying Michael is hypnotizing and putting me to sleep. Bobby puts his pencil down from the book he was working in. "Balls. I'm not having much luck at this. I'm going to get lunch. See you boys in an hour."

Bobby leaves.

"Eat Dean," Cas urges, setting Michael's empty bottle down. The kid's completely out.

"Yeah, guess I should. I have to get back to work, which speaking of, don't you have to get back too?"

"I took the rest of the afternoon off. You need my help."

"And that's what good 'boyfriends' do?" I say taking a bite of my sandwich.

He ignores me. "These are cute." He's referring to Michael's coveralls.

"Yeah, Bobby got them for him," I yawn. Cas is looking me over.

"You can't keep going like this Dean."

"We're fine Cas. We don't need you butting into our lives."

"You aren't fine. Let me help."

"I don't think your boss is going to like you hanging out here everyday, so you can watch Michael. While we're on that topic, we should address the theft you committed this morning."

For some reason he finds it funny. "Did I steal your heart Winchester?"

Of all the cheesy ass lines. Still, I didn't expect him to say that; it makes me stumble over my words a bit. "I…I…no, Cas. I'm talking about the croissants. I only paid for three, yet five more ended up in my bag. You've unwittingly made me an accomplice to your felony." I take another bite of my sandwich to look more dramatic, hoping he'll take me seriously now. He doesn't.

Cas is actually smiling and I can't seem to recall very many times he actually has smiled. I mean, he has when he's making fun of me of course and when he knows he's got one over on me, but this is an amused smile. "You still haven't figured it out, have you?"

"Figured out what?"

He sits down beside me with Michael fast asleep on his chest. "I almost don't want to tell you, I've been waiting to see how long it takes for you to figure it out…I've left you a ton of clues."

"Dammit, Cas. Just tell me."

He fixes Michael's hair again. "I own The Coffee Shop, Dean. As in, it's mine."

"I know what that means, Cas. I'm not an idiot." But I feel like a fucking idiot. Really? He owns that place? I guess he is there a lot and I guess that's why he always acts like he owns the place—he fucking does. Dick.

"Well, you weren't able to figure that out on your own..."

"You know what, Cas? Give me my son and get the fuck out."

He's fucking laughing at me now. "You're cute when you're pissed off. I like it."

I look at my sandwich and pout—I don't want to be cute. "Won't that place, I dunno, crumble to the ground without you there? You're always there."

"I'm not _always_ there, just mostly there and that was only because I didn't have anything else I considered greater priority. Now I do."

"We can be friends for Michael's sake, even I can see he loves you, but that's it. We aren't dating Cas. We aren't your 'priority.'"

"Yes we are dating and yes you are my priority. You and Michael."

He's so pompous the way he says that; it's frustrating—like whatever he says goes.

"Isn't there a law against forcing someone into dating you?"

"Not that I know of. I've got your number Winchester. This is the way it has to be with you."

"The way it has to be with me?"

He nods so god damn sure of himself. "It would have taken decades for you to ask me out again, even though you clearly desire me and I wasn't about to sit by and watch countless others date you while you figured that out. You might as well be dating me while that happens, mostly so I don't murder anyone."

"That's really creepy, Cas."

"It's logical. Even if we had gone about this the traditional way, by going on a date or whatever, you wouldn't have been able to handle the very thought of commitment—because I wasn't wrong about that, what I was wrong about is your _capacity_ for commitment. You have it in you, but you are scared _to_ commit."

"Thanks for the psych-evaluation Karl Jung."

"Whine and complain all you want, I'm not going to waste my time with all of that, so you can be my boyfriend while you figure it all out."

I've got no argument because he's right. Stupid Cas knowing me way too well; makes me a bit uncomfortable. I finish my sandwich and think about what he said. If he had said yes to my dinner invite before, I would have shown him a good time, but after we had sex…yeah, I wouldn't have known what to do next. It's better he takes the lead on this one.

"I don't have time to sleep, what makes you think I'm going to have time for you?"

"You're going to have plenty of time for me, because you're going to let me help you with Michael, Dean—that's non-negotiable."

"Aren't you going to want to be wined and dined? Sandy walks on the beach? All that dating crap Sam and Gabe always talk about?" Those two still have a fucking date night; sometimes I babysit on that date night.

He's still smiling his amused smile. "My tastes are surprisingly simple. I'm a make you dinner and fuck you over the sofa kind of guy."

My jaw drops, 'cause holy shit, Cas is talking about fucking me over the sofa. "I, I, I thought 'fuck' is not something to be said in front of small children?" is the best sentence my brain can produce right now.

"He's out cold Dean, but I'm happy to see you pay attention to things I say."

Fucking Cas talking about fucking. I wipe my hands off on my pants finished with lunch. "I have to get back to work. There's an upper intake manifold in there that needs my attention."

Cas stares at me, as I stand and rub my eyes again. Fuck am I tired. "What?"

"I've never seen you in grease and coveralls. I like it, Dean."

"Um, thanks."

"Wait, c'mere before you go."

I know what he wants to do. He wants to kiss me, but this time, he's buried in Michael. I _could_ walk out without kissing him; I know he won't disturb Michael to chase me for a kiss. I can't though; I want to see what it feels like, again. Will I feel the same electricity? When does that go away? Probably after this kiss and I can just say goodbye to him.

I lean down over his lips, but I'm too slow for him, he grabs me by the collar of my coveralls and lays one on me, firm and subdued. I can't help pausing there for a moment as I pull away and look into his blue eyes. "There's my smile," he says and reaches out to fix my hair.

Am I smiling?

As if I'm on auto-pilot (must be the lack of sleep) I give him another quick peck on the lips and I think…yep, I'm still smiling. "See you in a bit," I say.

~BDD~

"Hmm, hm, hm, hmm, hm, hm, goes to sleep Mi-chael. Hmm, hm, hm, hmm, hm, hm, goes to sleep Mi-chael…" I hum under my breath, so I don't disturb Benny too much.

"What happened to you, brother? You've been smiling and humming since you came back from lunch."

"No I haven't."

"Yes you have."

"I'm happy—I have a kick ass son."

"I know you're happy about that, but this is a different kind of happy. Are you in love Dean?"

"What? Seriously, what the actual fuck, Benny? I'm Dean Winchester. I don't fall in love. I'm not in love." Just being held hostage in a relationship by a crazy, jealous barista who by the way, fucking _owns_ my favorite coffee joint.

He pops his head further from around the hood of the truck he's working on and his eyes tell me they don't fucking believe me. I throw a rag at him. "Fuck off, Benny."

He laughs at me then I laugh back at him. That's when Cas walks in with Michael. "Daddy," he whines. He doesn't look like he was crying, but upon seeing me he starts crying.

"You wasn't there," he cries.

"I know bud. I'm right here—Daddy was just working." Thankfully he's wearing coveralls too. My hands are caked in grease when I take him and Ironman from Cas; Michael cries silently into my shoulder; I sway him back and forth.

Cas is looking over at Benny, sizing him up a little. "Hello, there," Benny says walking over. "Are you what Dean's been smiling about the past hour?"

"Benny," I hiss.

"I'm Castiel. Dean's boyfriend," Cas says shaking his greased stained hand, marking his fucking territory. Jesus Christ Cas. Just piss on me why don't you?

Benny looks at me with eyes that say 'I fucking knew it, Winchester.'

"Well, I'll be. He must love you to let you look after his tyke like that," is his smart-ass comment, complete with wink, before he heads back to the job he's doing.

I glare at him some more.

"Daddy. I'm hungry," Michael sniffles.

"Okay. I'm going to get you some food, but I need to wash my hands."

"Me too," he says making sure I know I'm not leaving his sight. I carry him over to the sink and we wash hands with the fast orange stuff.

"Did you sleep good, big guy?"

"Daddy wasn't there," he pouts with tears again.

"But Cas was. I thought you liked Cas?"

"Does Daddy."

"Then why all the tears, huh?"

"'Cause you leaved me."

"Did not," I argue, poking his belly. I get a small smile. "But you're just in time. I need help with my wrenches again."

"Yeah. Does. I can do it, Daddy."

"Thanks Cas," I say when I walk back.

"Thanks, Cas," Benny sing-songs.

"Shut your pie-hole, ass."

He fucking laughs like a jack-a-lope. "So I guess there's no point in you hanging around. He's going to want to help me for the rest of the afternoon."

"He just woke up and he's hungry. I'll stick around I'm sure I can convince him to come back to me in about twenty minutes."

"What makes you so sure of that?" I say, leading the way to the locker room.

"Because he's three."

"You don't know everything, Cas."

"Most things."

"Find the radiator cap in that car I was working on."

"You got me there, I know nothing about cars, but lucky for me I'm dating a hot mechanic," he winks. Oh my god. Cas just fucking winked at me. I think that whole time imploding on itself thing is starting to happen. "I do know three-year-olds though. He trusts me. He'll be ready to come back to me once he's reassured you're not going anywhere."

"Fine." I grab Michael's lunch and diaper bag out of my locker and start taking off his coveralls, so I can change his diaper. I lay his diaper change mat out on the rarely used lunch table and start changing him.

"I can't believe how good you are with him, Winchester."

"Is that supposed to be a compliment?"

"You can't blame me. You don't let anyone see the real you."

"But apparently I'm an open fucking book to you."

"Well I am a writer, we notice things."

"Not funny, Cas." Once I'm done, changing Michael and putting him back into his coveralls; he's more lively. I give him his sandwich, but I can't wait for him to eat it, since my four-hour intake manifold job is already going to take five hours as it is with all the times I've had to stop. I can still only charge the owner of the car for four hours, so that decreases my hourly rate. I set him on my hip and start walking.

"Bobby's back," Cas tells me as we head back into the garage. "Meant to tell you that earlier—he's trying to balance his books again."

"Oh yeah. He hates that," I say setting Michael up with the wrenches again.

"I could help Bobby while Michael finishes that; I'll come right back. I'm sure he'll be ready to socialize then."

Cas turns to leave. "Hey!" I say without even thinking. Cas knows what I'm 'heying' about.

"Sorry, baby," he says like we've been together a thousand years and pulls me in for a yet another chaste kiss that has me chasing him for more. He fixes my hair again with a smile this time that's different from any other smile he's given me so far; he's not amused, or making fun; it's a special smile and it's just for me. I fucking stare after him, like he's leaving on a train, as he walks out the door.

Benny's laughing his ass off at me. "You have it bad, brother."

"I…I…" I try to speak and put together some witty denial, but I can't 'cause fuck, I think Benny's right. I think I'm in love with Cas.


	11. Anytime You Want

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to cut this off at 5K, but you get an extra 3K since I was away and I love y'all so much! 
> 
> I was able to hash out the tough stuff from GUW while in transit over the w/e and down time. It was on my mind you see, so you can expect a chapter complete with Chally for that story very soon. 
> 
> Enjoy!

I'm so tired, I have to live off of shitty shop coffee to make it through the day and keep conversation with Benny, so I don't pass out where I stand. Bobby comes into the shop a little while later with Cas. "This boy's a keeper Dean. If you screw this up, I'll tan your hide."

"What did the amazing Cas do now?" I say from under the hood. Michael's with me, helping out again.

"Balanced my books in mere minutes. Says he's going to install a computer program that'll do it all for me."

"Benny and I have been trying to convince you to do that for years."

"Yeah? Well you weren’t very good at convincing; don't practice law. Cas on the other hand could."

And the sun now shines out of his ass.

Cas hangs with Michael, Benny and I for a bit after that and Cas was right, Michael lets him pick him up and take him around the shop looking at stuff. Then the three of them (Cas Michael and Ironman) play a game of battle wrenches and I'm jealous because I have to work and I'd rather play that with them—it looks like fun and Michael's giggling his cute little giggle I love. Cas seems like the strict sort of guy, I didn't expect him to be so playful with kids. It allows me to get a helluva lot more work done. I adore Michael being here with me, but it does slow me down. If only I could hire Cas as my full-time nanny and have him hang out at the shop like this everyday.

It's approaching five o'clock, and I'm bagged, but there's one last quick job I feel like I can get done inside of an hour, which would be good, so I can make up some of the wages I lost being slow.

"I want to try something Dean, if you're okay with it. A bit of an experiment, really."

"Oh now my opinion is valid?"

"I want to take Michael to the market with me."

I never thought I would be this parent, but a lot has changed since the first few days, I've grown used to having Michael with me every second and my heart stops, paired with a sick feeling at the thought of him being out of my sight and off somewhere in the street without me. When he was sleeping on Cas today, in Bobby's office, that was different, I was in the same building as him at least. Cas wants to take my baby far away from me? I don't fucking like it.

All of these feelings are completely irrational and new; I trust Cas, he's a douche to me, but I know he'd die before he'd let anything happen to Michael (if he didn't die and something happened to Michael, he wouldn't have long to live anyway) but I'm still terrified.

"You can try," I say confidant Michael will tell him no and I won't have to look like the crazy one. "But I doubt he'll want to leave me."

Cas smiles his smirky smile, it's not the special one I like, it's one that means he knows something I don't. "Michael, you want to come for a walk with me?"

Michael does look up to me for a second, and Cas is fucking right, I think he wants to go, but he wants to know what I think. I know if I tell him to stay with me, he will, but that doesn't seem right—I know it's not. I never want to hold my kid back, so as fucking scary as it is, I encourage him. "Go on, bud. Go with Cas. I'll be done soon and we can hang."

He gets that brave face he does, like when I send him to play with the twins, but there's a bit of excitement lighting his eyes. I help him hop down from the stool I have set up for him and bring him over to wash his hands with the special fast orange shit that removes all the grease from them and try to get the stuff off his face too.

"Why is this an experiment?"

"As much as I can see he wants to come, I'm not exactly sure how he'll be away from you—he's very attached to you Winchester; it's very sweet by the way."

I blush at that. I wish Cas would stop complimenting me; it's fucking weird.

"What are you going to do if…if he's not okay? I'm not sure I like you experimenting with my kid." If it weren't for Michael wanting to try, I'd nix this whole thing.

"I'm eighty-five percent sure he'll be okay. I'll go to the market on James street, which is close by. If all goes well, you can come pick us up when you're done. If it doesn't, I'll turn straight around and come back. Is that adequate?"

I nod, barely able to speak, 'cause I'm kinda freaking out a bit. I remove Michael's coveralls, though part of me wants to leave'em on him. At least they say 'Winchester' on the back; if he's lost, people will know who he is. Oh god, what if he gets lost? I crouch low. "You hold Cas's hand," I say gruffly. "Understand?"

He reaches his Ironman free hand up to Cas's, Cas grasps it firmly. "You don't have a stroller, Winchester?"

"No." Fuck, I'll have to put that on the list of shit I have to buy when I go furniture shopping. It's becoming a long and expensive list. "See? Maybe this is a bad idea. We should do this another day."

I reach to grab Michael, but Cas is faster, he scoops Michael up and sets him on his shoulders. Michael grabs onto his head. "See you in an hour Winchester."

I watch in horror as Cas takes my son away. "Bye Michael," I say just in case it's the last time I'll ever see him.

"Bye Daddy," he says from behind his soother. "Soon?"

"Yeah. I'll see you soon." _Michael leaves me._

When they're gone, I work fucking fast and get the job done in forty-five minutes. Benny is greatly amused by me as I wash up fast, grab all of my and Michael's shit, say a quick goodbye to Bobby and rush to meet Cas and Michael.

I text Cas soon, as I hit the parking lot and head inside to meet them, so I can help with bags and Michael. Michael's eating a mini-cucumber and looks happy, standing in the line up with Cas, did he even miss me at all? His eyes light up when he sees me, for like a second, then he gets his classic Michael pout and starts to fucking wail. It's as if he'd forgotten all about me until I showed up. "Daddy leaves me," he says so loud, I'm sure the whole market hears. I look around apologetically as I get a few dirty looks and scoop up my crying child and just catch his soother before it falls to the ground.

"Daddy didn't leave Michael, Michael left Daddy remember?"

Nothing except more wails and it reminds me a lot of how he cries at night about his mom. Because it's heart wrenching and I'm conditioned now, not to mention fucking dog-assed tired, I start crying too. To make matters worse Cas sees me crying. I give him my patented, Dean Winchester glower to ensure he doesn't say anything about it, not to mention, this was his idea; he's on my shit list. It's going to take him, like, a million of those kisses to make it up to me.

"Take him outside Winchester, I'll be out in a minute."

I listen to bossy Cas and take my crying son outside.

"Shh, it's okay, Michael. I'm not gone; I'm here. I'm here." I repeat that over and over again as I stand beside the Impala and bounce him. The verdict is looking grim on if he'll ever be able to be away from me long enough for me to go to work and it's a bit disheartening. Much as I was terrified to have him out of my sight and was fucking glad to have him back in my sight, a teeny tiny part of me hoped this would work out. Today showed me it's not going to be easy to get as much work done with a three-year-old hanging around the shop, even one as good as Michael. They still require a particular amount of care—changing, feeding, napping, entertaining—that takes up a lot of work time. If Cas wasn't there to help, I'd have maybe gotten three jobs done. As it was, I lost about two hundred dollars in wages.

Eventually, his cries turn to soft sniffles. "Hey, what you got in your hand?" I say trying to distract him. He leans back to show me his cucumber; I take a bite.

"Yum, vegetables," I say even though vegetables are not particularly my favorite. If he likes them, I want to continue to encourage him to like them. I have a feeling if I let on that I don't, suddenly neither will he.

"L-like it too, Daddy," he says. Perfect. My deception works. I run a hand through his hair and wipe at tears.

"Daddy loves you, Michael."

"Love you Daddy."

Cas finally joins us and greets me with a kiss, like Michael wasn't just crying in the parking lot, but gotta admit, just like what I did with the three-year-old, the kiss distracts me. I think Cas is being tricky again. "Hey gorgeous, how was work?" he says.

I can barely hide my blush at him calling me gorgeous. I'm not used to this at all, but I can't say I don't like it. Fuck, when Cas wants something, he sure goes after it. Wasn't it less than twenty-four hours ago we hated each other? At least were pretending to hate it other. Clearly, it wasn't true. I still kind of want to punch him for being so self-righteous and for doing something that made my son cry. I open the trunk of the Impala. "That was a bad fucking idea Cas."

Cas starts putting the bags in the trunk. "It was a fine idea Winchester. He didn't even ask for you, he only freaked when he saw you—many kids with strong attachments to a particular parent, do that. You haven't told me the whole story, but I know enough I feel I can assume this case of attachment is a lot stronger because he feels you're going to leave him, like the others did, but the reaction is similar."

"Who gave you a Ph.D. in psychology?"

"Harvard did."

"Are you serious? No, you've got to be fucking with me."

"I am serious. I can prove it to you and I'd appreciate it if you'd stop saying that word in front of Michael. He's going to repeat it one day and then you'll be sorry."

I ignore him trying to make rules for me with my kid and focus on the other part. "You're a doctor of psychology? Why the hell do you have a coffee place Cas if you have all that?"

"I'll tell you the long story over dinner," he says shutting the trunk. "But the short of it is I prefer writing and I have a particular passion for all things coffee."

I study him skeptically. "I don't know anything about you."

"No, but you'll learn. C'mere Michael." I'm fucking shocked when Michael just goes to him.

"I don't get it…I don't fu—" Cas gives me a fucking scary look as I'm about to say 'fucking.' It's scary enough I decide to change my vernacular. "I don't freaking get it. He was just screaming his head off 'cause I wasn't here and now he just goes to you? What did you do to him? Did he threaten you, Michael?" I kind of hope so, then I can go back to hating Cas and everything will stop being fucking confusing.

Cas smiles like he's won something as he proceeds to open the car door and put Michael in the car seat, which _he_ doesn't seem to have a problem doing with Ironman in the way, as he does that, Michael finishes the last of his cucumber. "All gone, Cas," he says. He sounds fucking cute when he says 'Cas.'

Cas reaches into the pocket of his trench coat and smiles at him. "Here you go my lad. I knew you'd want another one." Cas hands Michael the mini-cucumber and shuts the door, he nods at me to get inside and he walks around to the passenger side to do the same.

"It's because he's three Dean," he says as we drive away. "There's not really a better answer than that."

"Huh?" I say. I was distracted looking at Michael in the rear-view, seeing how he's doing with that cucumber. I don't really like him eating in the back seat while I'm driving, even though I do it sometimes too—I'm always afraid he'll choke.

"They freak out one minute and are fine the next."

"Well apparently you're the expert. I only got him, like a week ago. How am I supposed to know?"

"I'm not the expert actually. I only did a minor in kid's psych, I specialized in another area."

I'm intrigued. "You did? Uh, which area would that be?"

"Human Sexuality."

"Holy fuck," I say swerving a bit.

This time I only get a dirty look, which I know is for swearing, but he doesn't say anything.

"I didn't mean to startle you, Winchester."

"It's okay. I'm, uh, good." And I want to know a lot more about that, but I'm not going to ask. Maybe he'll tell me about that over dinner too?

When we get to my place, I grab Michael, Ironman, his blanket and diaper bag (fuck I gotta carry a lot of shit now) while Cas grabs the fresh produce and whatever the fuck else he bought at the market. It's when we're on the porch, I realize Cas has never been to our house. It feels weird and regular at the same time.

"Welcome, I guess." We bring everything into the kitchen. "I should go change him."

"Oh no you don't. You're going to lay down. I will change Michael and we will make dinner together while you sleep."

That actually sounds awesome. I'm starting to get a bit cranky, the lack of sleep is really fucking messing with my mind, but…"Cas, I really don't think that's a good idea. I know what you said about him being three, but I don't think I should leave him."

"And I agree Winchester, which is why you're going to lay on that couch over there. You will be right near us and I can see him if he wants to wander over to you. I'll bet you could sleep on a rock right now."

He's right. "Okay, I'll give it a shot. I'm really tired."

"He is too, but we should try to keep him up, maybe he'll sleep tonight due to exhaustion."

Just talking about sleep makes me that much more tired. I rub my eyes and yawn. "Yeah okay, Cas." I kiss Michael's forehead. "Daddy'll be right over there big guy. If you get tired of helping Cas, come play with your toys by me."

"Soother, Daddy?"

Oh right. I put it in my pocket while he was crying earlier and since he ate cucumber all the way home, I haven't given it back yet. I pull it out and pop it into his mouth. "Come along, Michael. We're going to change your diaper."

I head over to the couch and I do crash. My eyes are so heavy and I kinda, sorta love Cas that much more right now for fucking doing this for me. How much better would things have been if someone could have done this for Dad? Uncle Bobby helped out when he could, but he had a shop to run. The most common reason Dad lost his temper with us, was because he was low on patience. I see how hard it is being tired and dealing with a little one who needs all your attention. Dad was often short with us, then spent the rest of his time feeling guilty about it. I'm kind of worried about that with Michael. There's already been a few times I've been a little snappy with him when I didn't mean to be, it's only bound to get worse if I don't get some fucking sleep.

My eyes are closed, but I'm still not quite asleep yet when they come back from changing Michael. I can't help wanting to listen to their voices for a bit. "What's Daddy doing?" Michael asks.

"He's sleeping, my lad. Daddy's tired."

"Oh. I gives him Irunman?"

"Should Ironman protect Daddy while he sleeps?"

I don't hear anything from Michael in answer to that, I assume he's nodding his head. "Okay, go give him Ironman, but be really quiet."

Wow. He's giving me Ironman, to protect me? He really is my son.

I can hear him approach, via his crinkling diaper, Michael's not all that loud to begin with, but I can tell he's trying to be extra quiet, like Cas instructed. I pretend I'm out. I feel when he's right beside me and when he places Ironman by my head. He presses a soother kiss to my cheek and it's really hard not to smile. "Here, we should give him a blanket and a pillow," Cas says suddenly there like a fucking ninja. Now him I didn't hear. Carefully he lifts my head so he can put the pillow underneath, I feel him adjusting Ironman. Michael helps him put the blanket over me.

Cas leans in and kisses my forehead. "I know you're not asleep, Winchester," he says quietly. "You'd better be next time I check."

Or else what? I don't say. I'm still pretending to be asleep for Michael's benefit. I almost want to stay awake to find out, but there's no way I possibly can, I'm too cozy now and my heart is warmed by the fact my son lent me his most prized possession to watch over me while I sleep.

~BDD~

I don't know how long I've slept, just that it's a whole lot darker when I wake up. Something smells really good. When I open my eyes, I can see Michael's toys are laid out in front of me, he must have come to play by me at some point. I rub the sleep away and sit up. I'm still a bit grimey from work. I need a shower, I wonder if I've got time for that? Haven't been able to shower alone in over a week, might be nice. This having help thing is fucking rad.

I notice Ironman is still beside me, so I pluck him up and traverse the toys—I've already stepped on a few things, kid toys are fucking feet hazards—and head to the kitchen, which is just off from the living room, open style, so I can see them both as I approach and holy fuck, Cas is half naked. He's wearing his pants, but that's it. I gotta say, I always noticed he had a nice ass, but I never thought _that_ was under his white button up shirt and tie. Cas looks like a thin guy with the way he dresses, but he has a fair amount of muscle on him. Sure he's no Arnold Schwarzenegger, but he's got a little size on him making his chest and abs thick. His skin is hairless and smooth looking, I want to fucking touch it, press my chest up against his…Jesus Christ, I can't be having these fucking thoughts about Cas. 

But tell my dick that. It wasn't a lot of sleep, I think I'd have to sleep for two days to begin repaying the sleep deficit I owe my body, but he's finally interested in something.

Cas is helping Michael, who's naked except his diaper and is on a stool; roll out dough.

I avert my eyes to my child instead of the sexy man in my kitchen and grab Michael's attention. "Look who I found sleeping by my head?"

Michael's eyes light up.

He immediately climbs down from the stool Cas has him on, his tiny little body having to put a lot of effort into the task, but he does it and I'm glad Cas lets him without helping. He is watching him, ready to swoop in if he falls.

He makes it down, with no idea about the tenterhooks both Cas and I were on while we watched him climb down assuming he'd crack his head open and runs his diapered butt to me. "Daddy's awake!"

I grab him up and kiss him all over, he's already smiling, but he smiles bigger. "What happened to your clothes?"

"I got's no clothes Daddy," Michael tells me patting his chest with his hand like he's mini-Tarzan.

"We're baking things, aren't we?" Cas says to Michael. "I didn't want his clothes to get full of flour."

"Is that your excuse for being naked?"

"I looked for an apron, I couldn't find one, didn't want to get my work shirt dirty."

"You need to put a shirt on Cas. Here take mine." I sit Michael on the counter, and remove my shirt, the one I wore to work. It's not dirty, because I was wearing coveralls, but it is heavily lathered in Dean musk since I did sweat throughout the day. He can get this one full of flour all he wants, so long as he covers up his sculpted physique.

It's Cas's turn to admire my body. This is his second viewing though, lucky asshole. "Now you don't have a shirt—put it back on Winchester."

"I was hoping for a shower anyway. Put on the damn shirt Cas."

We stand their in a fucking face off both very aware that now we're both half naked and trying to avoid looking anywhere but the other's eyes. "Fine," he finally says. "But only if you go have a shower now and come down fully dressed."

"Deal. You'll watch Michael?"

"Of course."

But before I can get too excited about a kid free shower, Michael speaks up. "I come with you Daddy."

"Are you my sidekick?" Guess we've reached the limit on Daddy-free time today.

"You sure you don't want to bake with me? Remember, we're making these special for Daddy?" Cas tries and I look at Michael trying to use the power of the force to get him to stay with Cas.

He doesn't answer. "Daddy's having a shower. You didn't like it this morning, remember? Michael gets all wet? You even told Ironman what a dick I was."

"I is coming with you Daddy," Michael says, his mind made up.

Guess I'm not showering alone 'till he's old enough to watch TV on the couch while I do that. "Okay naked man, shower it is." I set Michael on my hip, Cas still hasn't put the damn shirt on, so I turn to make a quick exit unable to look at him a second longer, otherwise my son is going to get a National Geographic style lesson about the birds and the bees.

"Winchester, wait."

Like the idiot I am, I turn back around and he uses my pants to pull me to him like he did the other day, only this time, my dick is hard and standing straight up, when he slides his fingers under the waistband, he accidentally grazes the head with his fingertips. In the same motion, he's kissing me, and it's just a small kiss like all the others, but this one feels so much bigger, because our bare chests are touching. I want more this time, but like all the other kisses we've shared, this one is over before it really gets started and he pushes me away with a hand pressed flat against my bare chest. This time, I can tell he's not as unaffected as he's trying to appear. "Go shower," bossy Cas says. "You can take your time. Dinner's ready to go. I fed Michael some snacks to tide him over."

I get the hell out of there fast.

As predicted, Michael fucking hates the shower. It's a re-run of this morning, Michael sitting at the bottom of the shower screaming his lungs out, his current soother joining the one that's still there, only now I have more time, so I quickly wash my hair and shut everything down, opting to put us both in the bath. "Doesn't like that shower, Daddy."

"I told you."

"Water gets in my eyes."

"We need to put you in some swimming lessons or something, kid," I say popping us both in the bath. It's the ensuite bath in our room though, with none of Michael's shit in it. He notices.

"Where's my toys, Daddy?"

"In the other bath. We're just having a quick bath tonight bud. Cas is waiting for us." I know Cas said to take our time, but I feel kinda rushed. Besides, I'm fucking hungry.

"Cas?"

"Yeah big guy. Cas. So we have to hurry."

He nods. "We gonna see Cas Daddy! Gonna eat dinner!" he claps excited.

I laugh. I've never seen him do that before. I carefully wash his hair without getting soap, _or_ fucking water in his eyes, wash us both up and dress Michael in a diaper and pajamas. It's almost eight-thirty, it's going to be a late dinner, but then I hope he'll go to bed. He looks like he's fading now and the poor things needs sleep, otherwise he'll get sick again.

Thank God Cas is wearing a shirt when I return to the kitchen, but he's wearing my shirt and somehow that's worse. It looks really good on him, shows off his physique better than the boring stuff he always wears to the coffee shop. He looks like he's just put something in the oven, my shirt's got flour all over it.

"You Winchesters can sit," he nods over to the table, which has food on it. "Start eating, I just have to grab one more dish from the stove."

I sit Michael in his seat and start doing up a plate for him. There's an amazing looking salad that I might even like with strawberries, feta cheese and more cucumbers on it. Some kind of chicken thigh dish, fresh buns and some pickled beets. Cas brings over a potato dish. "Lemon potatoes," he says. "One of my bakers is a Greek guy. We've held the odd event at the shop where we make more than just confections, he taught me how to make these. That chicken is chicken souvlaki, even though I didn't put it on sticks. Too much work for tonight when I had some other things in mind."

"Holy crap Cas. This is amazing. Thanks. Maybe I will keep you."

"I knew the real way to your heart would be through your stomach," he says rolling his eyes.

"Daddy, I helped."

"You did? What did you make?"

He looks over at Cas for the answer. "He helped pour all the ingredients in the chicken and the potatoes, he even helped chop, with assistance of course."

"Wow, that's fucking sweet, dude."

"Winchester," Cas growls.

I give him a cheeky smile. "High five buddy," I carry on. I hold my hand up, take his and slap them together. Michael smiles.

We eat the hearty meal Cas and Michael prepared. Everything is insanely delicious. Forget what I was thinking earlier, I'd marry Cas for his cooking skills alone. He's a way better cook than I am. Sure I can make shit taste good, but this is freaking gourmet.

The other awesome part, my kid gobbles up everything, even the salad. I'm so glad he's not a picky eater, which at least makes one thing easier. "Daddy, what's Irunman eat?" he asks as usual.

"Here, give him this," I say passing him a bun.

He holds it to Ironman's mouth. "Num num num num. Fucking sweet dude," Michael says.

I almost fucking spit out my food, because A) that's hilarious and B) Cas looks like he's going to kill me. I have to cover my mouth and laugh.

"I told you Winchester."

"It's cute."

"If Michael lived at home all the time, I suppose I don't see the harm, but it's not going to be so cute when he's around other kids and you have their parents telling you off about it."

"Let them. I'll tell them where they can shove their stupid beliefs."

"I'm sure you would, but how are you going to feel when your child is ostracized over it? Very few parents share your belief, they won't allow their children to hang out with Michael."

"Well I don't want Michael making friends with stuck up dickheads."

"I guess it's just going to have to happen to you, for you to see."

"Leave it alone Cas."

He sighs. "Fine. Will you at least think about what I've said? I'm not trying to be a…a dick, I care about you both. If I didn't, I wouldn't say anything."

Oh. Well that makes me feel shitty. Cas has already done so much for us. The extra croissants, taking the day off for us, making this kick ass dinner…maybe I'm the dick? Yeah. I think I am. "I'm sorry, Cas. I'm not used to this; caring about what someone else has to say about my life. When Sammy tries, I usually just tell him to fu—eff off. I'll think about what you said. Happy?"

"Thank-you," he says and reaches out to rub my hand on the table.

After that little tiff, we both engage with Michael, making him laugh and tiring him out further. We both really fucking want him to sleep. Part way through dinner, Cas has to get up to take whatever he was baking out of the oven and later, when Michael finishes all his plate and some of mine, Cas gets up again, returning with a bottle for Michael. "How about you rock him and lay him down? I'm positive he'll pass out long enough to give us just a little time, then you should get to bed too."

I want to argue with him on principle, him dictating what I should do and when I should do it makes me think I should, but that would just be my Dean childishness seeping through and I think I've been enough of a dick for one day, especially when he's been nothing, but thoughtful. That's exactly what I was thinking I should do with him anyway, and would have been my plan if Cas wasn't here. "Good idea," I say. "What uh…what did you make?"

Cas smiles excited. "Michael and I made you some croissants for the morning. I had someone from the shop stop by while you were sleeping with some fresh ground coffee you can make here, that way you don't have to come in the morning and it will give you a bit more sleeping time."

Fuck. I must have been out not to hear the door, usually I'm like a guard dog. That's like the niceness cherry to this thoughtful sundae that Cas has been orchestrating the whole day, but it doesn't make me feel good. My whole demeanor falls and my full stomach feels empty. "Thanks Cas that's, uh, nice." Holy fuck. Something hits me big time. All this time I convinced myself I went in for the awesome croissants and perfect coffee, that the douchebag barista was just someone I put up with, but now that I have both of those things right here for me…well it's not the fucking same without the douchebag barista. Doesn't he care about seeing me too?

"I thought you'd be a bit more exited than that?" Cas says disappointed his surprise didn't go over like he thought. Now I feel worse. Stupid Cas deserves a little more from me after all he did today; I don't like that crestfallen look on his face.

Michael reaches for the bottle in my hand, excited for it. I'm sure he knows that means sleep and it's clear he wants to go to sleep—that's not my problem with him and sleep. Usually he falls asleep easily, it's getting him to stay asleep through the night. He climbs into my lap, Ironman clutched in his fist and I help him put the bottle in his mouth, as he gets comfortable.

"I am excited Cas."

"Yeah. You look it." He gets up to start cleaning the dinner dishes and I stand with Michael on my hip to follow.

Once he puts the two plates he was carrying in the sink, I spin him around by his wrist, so he's facing me and pull him close to Michael and I. "The coffee and the croissants are great, they really are, but those aren't the only reasons I come into the Coffee Shop. My morning isn't complete without insults from my favorite barista. I think that wakes me up more than the coffee." I plant a gentle kiss on his lips.

Aha! Now he's blushing. Winchester for the win!

His shy blush only lasts a moment, witty Cas smirks at me. "Who says I won't be here in the morning to serve you?"

"Are you, are you staying over?" I practically stutter. I've given up with trying to convince Cas not to do anything; he's going to do what he's going to do.

"I'll bet you'd like that Winchester, but no, I'm not. I don't have anything here and I do need to be presentable for work. I will be over early in the morning."

Fuck, now I feel like an idiot. It does sound like I wanted him to stay over and I really don't. He wouldn't get any sleep; there's no sense in having the only two people Michael allows to look after him as tired as I still am.

"I guess I'd better put this guy to bed," I say awkwardly and get the hell away from Cas. As I'm rocking Michael, my phone buzzes. It's Sam.

_'How's the chair?_

I tell him it works great and that it bought me extra sleep, so he doesn't decide to come over. I already had to explain Cas to Bobby, I'm not ready to have to explain him to my brother and Gabe. 

_'Great. Come by Wednesday, we'll have dinner for you and your eating machine. I want to hear all about the doctor's appointment.'_

Shit! The doctor's appointment. I could only get a three o'clock appointment, which means leaving work early. I forgot to ask Bobby. I know he won't mind, but I still hate asking, he's already been so generous. I tell Sam we'll come over right after.

As I rock him, Michael is sucking on his bottle, staring up at me sleepily, like if he closes his eyes too quickly, I might disappear. "I'm gonna sleep right beside you big guy and Ironman too, okay?"

He pulls the bottle out. "Beside me?"

"Yep."

"Daddy doesn't leave," he says shaking his head. All the other times he's said that, it was either a demand or a question, but this time it sounds to have just the slightest hint of confidence. Maybe I'm starting to prove myself to him even if it's just a small amount. He pops his bottle back in.

"That's right. Daddy doesn't leave because Daddy can kick everything's ass." I'll fucking cheat death if I have to, nothing's taking me away from Michael.

He nods off easily, his small body completely spent. I tuck him under the duvet with Ironman watching over him and slip a soother in his mouth, kiss his cheek like he did to me, and head downstairs.

Cas is doing dishes, like _doing_ dishes. "We have a dishwasher you know," I say grabbing up a dishtowel so I can dry and put away the ones he's washed.

"It's full."

"I can see that." I can hear the whir of the dishwasher as it washes. "Why not wait 'till it's done to do these?"

"By then all the food will have hardened onto the dishes Winchester. Better to do them all up soon after you've used them."

"That's annoying," I say as I continue to dry.

"What is?"

"How much sense you always make. I never seem to be able to argue with your logic."

He smiles loving my admission. "Are you trying to earn brownie points? That's two nice things you've said to be in a row."

"Maybe." I'm also trying to ease how much weird I feel, this is so domestic, the whole damn picture. Me putting Michael to bed while Cas cleans up after dinner then me returning to help him. I think I need to Dean this up a bit.

While I'm waiting for a dish, I decide to whip Cas with my slightly wet towel, right on his sexy ass. I get him good too, he yelps. "Stop it Winchester. You'll be sorry."

"Hmmm, nope. I don't think I will." I let loose with another one he tries to dodge, but I expect that and lunge forward getting him anyway. I'm laughing. This is fun. He's enjoying himself too, I can see the corners of his lips tugging as he tries not to smile. He snatches up another dishtowel, hanging on the rack and makes his own weapon.

"I'm the dishtowel champion in my family."

"I'm the dishtowel champion in mine," I say.

That's what begins the dishtowel war of the century; apparently Cas and I are both extremely competitive. I have to admit (not to him) that he is fucking good and I think I've finally met my equal. I get lots of hits in on him, but he gets at least as many in on me and like myself, nothing is off limits and I mean nothing. We're both willing to go for each other's nuts, neither of us succeeding but we do try. The dishes are long forgotten and we're both laughing while taunting each other at the same time. The entire house has become our battlefield, we dive over furniture and weave through the rooms, though we do try to keep quiet for Michael's sake.

I'm pretty sure we're going to be locked in battle forever, because I'm not giving up and neither is he. Somehow along the way, we've established a points system, but no endgame. We've each got marks all up our arms and I know I have several on my ass—he whips as hard as I do. We're winding around the coffee table, tangled in a dance I don't see a way out of and neither does he, we're in check. Cas is finally the voice of reason. "Next point wins."

"Agreed, but what do I win when I do?"

"When I win, I want you to get on your knees and say 'you are the true dishtowel champion, Castiel.'"

"When _I_ win, I want you to kiss me for longer than a second."

Cas throws his towel aside. "You win, Winchester."

I'm staring stunned as he makes his way over to me and pulls me in by my dishtowel smacking our lips together. This kiss is not one second. This kiss is the culmination of all the little kisses, of what we've wanted to do to the other, but couldn't. It's maybe even the culmination of almost five years of attraction climaxing. It's all tongue and it's not pretty; it's like every porn kiss I've ever seen; wild, frantic and rough. My hands are grabbing at his hair, while his hold my face like a vice. We're both panting and trying to get more of each other. I've never fucking had a kiss like this. How the hell does Cas manage to taste so good?

Cas pries himself off of me, but I don't want to stop. I want to keep going…what was it he said about fucking me over the sofa? I've got the time and the energy; that kiss is just gave my life a second new meaning and I thought I had all the meaning I could get with having a son.

"Was that kiss sufficient?"

"Yeah. Let's keep going. I…I need you Cas." I lean in for another kiss, but he stops me.

"No, Baby. We aren't fucking."

"Fine. 'Make love,'" I say in air quotes. I'll sell him my soul right now if he wants.

"We aren't 'making love' either, Baby. Sit."

I do, but I'm fucking pouting with the hard on from hell. He sits beside me on the sofa. He does his thing where he fixes my hair. "I'll settle for a blow job Cas. Isn't that supposed to be a perk to this whole 'boyfriend' thing? Easy access to all things sex?" Not that I didn't have easy access before…oh god, am I going to get less sex than I had before? Maybe Cas isn't as into sex as I am. "Sex is a deal breaker for me Cas. I won't be in a sexless marriage."

"Calm down. Lack of sex is not something you'll have to worry about with me, but I have my own deal breakers and I won't have sex with you until I know my own can be met."

"I don't get it Cas. Why make us be boyfriends if you still don't know if I'll meet your relationship demands?"

"So we can get to know one another and I don't want anyone else hanging around you while we do. I don't play well with others Dean."

"Fine, hit me with them. What are your deal breakers?"

"It's better you read the book I wrote on it."

I laugh. "When am I going to have time for that? I told you, I don't even have time for sleeping right now."

"I know," he sighs. "It's just so much better explained…I think for now it would be best we get to know one another and I'll slowly introduce you to me and what I like. If by the end you're just not interested, I'll leave you alone. I'll still be here for you and Michael of course, but I won't pursue our relationship any further."

"Won't hold me captive you mean."

He smiles. "I don't have a gun to your head. You can leave anytime you want."

"You just want to make me fall in love with you, so I won't be able to resist your demands."

"If my devious plan is to make you fall in love with me, I dare say it's a bit late for that."

"I, I, I do not Cas."

"Yes, you do. It's okay though, I'm in love with you too."

He seals that with another kiss, no longer holding back. His tongue enters my mouth and I readily accept it, and chase him when he pulls away, but he's not having it, so I give up. "I don't get it Cas. You love me? But you've acted like you hate me, for years."

"I hated that I couldn't have you. I'm still not sure I can, or if it will work, but ever since I saw you walk in that day with Michael, I knew there could be a chance. Before that, well I could never date a playboy Dean. You saw me with Jo, I get jealous."

"That's an understatement."

"I get insanely jealous, that better?"

I nod.

"But it's worse with you Dean; I've never been _this_ jealous over anyone. It doesn't help that you get checked out at least every five seconds, I want to kick every single one of them out of my shop."

"I do?" I know I get checked out, I didn't know it was that often.

"Yes, it's part of the reason for my constant agitation. I've already had to tell a few patrons that we're dating, so they'll stop asking me if I can hook them up with you."

"Wow! I get date requests. Why do they think you'd be able to hook them up?"

"They see us talking every morning, they assume we're at least friends," he snaps. I don't think he likes my excitement over the date requests.

I pull him to me. He won't let us fuck, but maybe we can…oh my god I can't believe I'm resorting to this…snuggle? He comes easily and seems to be soothed by being in my arms. I wrap him tight as he leans his head against my chest. He drives me insane, he's bossy, and yes ridiculously jealous, but fuck, I do love him. I know I've never been kissed like that—I've been kissed a lot and he does things to me inside I can't explain, I've never felt this way about anyone and in just one day he's managed to make me come to terms with my years of commitment phobia, 'cause I want to try with him. I want to be boyfriends. "I don't know what kind of fucked up deal breakers you're gonna have Cas, but I'm willing to at least hear'em…and be your boyfriend while doing it." I turn his head up and kiss him yet again.

"Thank god Winchester. All day I've been afraid you'd suddenly turn me away."

"I did turn you away, you wouldn't listen. Stubborn ass."

"I mean for real. You didn't mean it, not really."

"No. Not really. But Cas?"

"Yeah, Winchester?"

"Since we apparently can't have sex and I have to become a fucking monk for however long that lasts, does being your boyfriend mean I at least get to kiss you anytime I want?"

"Yeah, Baby. Anytime you want."

I make true on that and kiss him into oblivion.


	12. Dean Winchester in Love

Cas and I talked. That's it, just talked. Well, I kissed him a whole bunch and he kissed me too, but we didn't fuck, so we were basically like teenagers whose parents are in the next room. He told me all about how he began a practice when he was first out of school after he finished his Ph.D, and while he enjoyed it, he always had a vision of opening his own coffee joint, so he used some of the money he made from his practice to do that. He didn't say and I didn't ask, but I have a sneaking suspicion his parents paid for his schooling; it doesn't sound like he had any school debts to repay. I did ask him if he was Doogie Howser, getting his Ph.D, running a practice for a few years then being five years into his coffee business, so quickly, but as it turns out, Cas is quite a bit older than I am. By eight years. He just looks really young.

I told him the story of Michael and that I'm going to see the pediatrician on Wednesday with hopes I can get a recommendation from her on a kid shrink. I don't mention I've got one from Jo already too, thinking it's a bad idea to bring Jo up. Cas is going to look into it too. Most of his old colleagues were into the same brand of psychology he was, but he says they might know someone. I think it's good for me to have a few options.

Too soon, Cas made me go to bed. I tried to convince him to stay, just a little bit longer, but he said he'd already stayed longer than he meant to; he seemed to feel bad for that. I felt worse though; he didn't bring his car and I couldn't drive him home, so we called him a cab.

He ended up being right of course, I should have gone to bed pretty quick after Michael, because Michael woke up about an hour after I fell asleep. The funny thing about sleeping for an hour, it doesn't provide you with much rest. You think any amount of sleep will revive you, but you wake up more tired than if you hadn't slept at all. I get up though, crying Michael on my hip and it's the same as all the other nights. I make him a bottle and rock him. We fall asleep, and repeat until my alarm goes off too soon.

I decide against a shower this morning, all the water in the world isn't going to wake me up today and I carry the finally sleeping Michael downstairs to the couch hoping he'll sleep for as long as possible. I start on breakfast and make enough apple cinnamon oatmeal for three since I know Cas is coming by. He's going to drive over today, since he's going to be here for dinner again tonight.

I can't fucking believe it, even tired as I am, I'm excited Cas is coming over. There's a stupid bubble of happy floating around in my already upset stomach. It's that lack of sleep upset, the one where you don't feel hungry even though you actually are hungry, because your stomach is completely empty? Yeah, that's where I'm at.

I don't dare start the coffee, knowing Cas will want to do that.

When I hear his knock, I rush to the door, half because I don’t want him to have to knock twice possibly waking Michael and half because I'm dying to see him. Is this what love is?"

Cas is standing there in that trench coat of his, with the same long sleeved white, button up shirt and black slacks he always wears, and he's got his back pack with him. There's something different about him. "Hey Winchester," he smiles. It's his special Cas smile just for me. The way he says 'Winchester' is different too. It's affectionate, absent of the sarcastic, annoyed tone it usually has.

"Did you do your hair different, or something?" I'm almost fucking shy. Almost. I'm actually wondering if he's going to kiss me. Is that what we do? Kiss? Or is it considered coming on too strong, if I reach out and do it to him? Can you come on any stronger than saying the L-word on a first date? Still, I don't want to come off as the eager one, I'm hoping he'll make the first move.

"Yeah. I brushed it a little different, put some stuff in it," he says.

"Did you, uh, did you do that for me?" Holy fuck. I'm seventeen again and Cas is Marty Boman—the only other person I dated seriously for any significant amount of time. I mean, I've had a couple of girlfriends too, but I was never faithful to them, so I don't count them.

Cas pushes me backward, so he can come in the door and lay one on me, spending a decent amount of time with his supple lips against mine, his tongue only slightly playing with mine, not in a full tangle. He still manages to leave me breathless. "Yes," he says when he pulls away. "You like it?"

"I do," I say and oh god, I'm staring at him, _dreamily_. Am I really doing this? This kinda stuff is supposed to be my brother and Gabe, not Dean-doesn't-fall-in-love-Winchester. Fuck. I'm gone. Totally and utterly gone for Cas.

He looks me over. "You on the other hand, look like hell Winchester."

Asshole. "Way to ruin a moment, Cas."

"I'm sorry baby. I'm worried about you. Didn't sleep again?"

"No," I say as I walk through the living room so I can check on Michael (he's still out) so I head toward the kitchen and take the oatmeal off the stove. Cas puts his bag down and immediately starts on the coffee.

"I wish I could offer to stay here with him for you, but I don't think he's ready for that."

"No. Don't you have work too?"

"Yes, but they'll get by without me for a few days. I have to stop by at some point today, but you've got me for most of the day."

I give him a bright smile. Fuck fine, it's not just bright, I'm sure it's fucking dewy eyed and dripping with syrup and shit. "Thanks, Cas."

That's when little feet come padding up to us; Michael demands wordlessly that I pick him up without a word to Cas. "Sorry, he's kind of a grouch like me when he wakes up too early." I rock him as he curls into me. "How are you bud?"

"Sleepy Daddy."

"I know. Me too. Sucks huh?"

"Sucks."

Even Cas cracks a smile at that. "Have you eaten? I've got oatmeal," I say.

"Sounds good."

"Also, this really hot guy baked naked for me in my kitchen yesterday."

"Oh?" Cas says.

"Yeah. I tried to tell him I have a boyfriend, but he went ahead a baked me croissants anyway. Want one?" God it feels weird saying I have a boyfriend, but I do and his name is Cas.

"Sure," he smiles.

I pull out everything for oatmeal, in the way that's now become normal: One handed, with a Michael on my hip. I get out bowls, spoons, plates and croissants. I make a big production trying to get the oatmeal out of the pot and into the bowls hoping it will make my grouchy son laugh. I barely get a smile. "Hey grouch-o, why the tough crowd?"

"I'm grouch-o Daddy," he agrees without an answer, rubbing his little eyes with his little hand. I'm not sure if he knows what that is, or is just repeating after me, but he is pretty smart, so I go with he knows.

"Me too."

"You too?"

"Yeah. I wanna go back to bed with Michael. Is too early," I whine like he does. That gets me a smile.

"Funny, Daddy."

"How's Ironman this morning?"

"Mad."

"That's what I expected. Think he'd be less mad if we gave him a brewskie?"

"What's brewskie, Daddy?"

"Beer."

"No, Daddy!" he giggles.

"Okay. Should Daddy have beer before work?"

"No!" he laughs again.

"Maybe later then."

Cas comes over. "Good morning Michael. You ready to socialize yet?"

"Cas!" he says with some of the excitement he gets when he sees me. "I'm grouch-o today, like Daddy."

"You are? How about Mr. grouch-o comes with Cas to get his diaper changed?"

"No Cas. Daddy does it."

It's my turn to laugh. "I'll change him. You can start eating if you want."

"I'll wait."

I bring Michael upstairs to change his diaper and get him dressed. He's got coveralls now, so I'm not as worried about what he wears underneath them. I get dressed too and decide I'd better do our hair. Cas is all spiffed up and he's right, I look like shit. I haven't shaved in three days either and I'm looking a little gruff. "C'mon bud. Let's go shave our faces."

The first time I shaved with Michael, he was very interested in watching, it was hard to say if he'd never seen it before, or if he had and was remembering. Either way, he was excited when I said he could do it too. I used the back of a plastic butter knife to 'shave' him. During our most recent shopping trip, I found him a kid's shaving set and I've been excited to let him use it.

I sit him on the bathroom counter and help him lather his face up, he's a bit shocked at first, but when I start lathering up mine, he's happy to be just like Daddy. "Here you go big guy. This is your razor." I hand him the little red plastic 'razor' and he looks up at me with awe.

"For me?"

"Yep."

Michael beams. "Here, I'll show you," I say.

Since we don't have to stop at The Coffee Shop (all the best parts are in our house), I take the time to make this an experience for him, even though I'm fucking tired and can't help thinking about that soft cozy, bed behind us once in a while. He's having the time of his life 'shaving' his face like Daddy. When we're done, I put a small amount of aftershave on him and do up our hair the same and head downstairs to kill Cas with cuteness. Not me, Michael.

Michael's much happier when we go downstairs and he runs to Cas and Cas picks him up. "Look Cas! Is just like Daddy." He pats his own head.

"Well aren't you handsome?" Cas says to Michael.

"Hey!" I say. "What about me?"

"Improved, but you still look like you could use sleep."

"Jeez you're picky. Well I think I look hot. Bet I'd get just as many people checking me out if I went to the coffee shop this morning."

The look Cas gives me makes me want to hide. "They can look, but they can't touch," I say kissing him, trying to soften him.

He doesn't respond to my kiss and turns away. "I don't want them looking either."

I sit at the table where Cas has the oatmeal laid out, Cas sits too, but he's still giving me the stink-eye. "Oh c'mon Cas, I was just stating a fact," I say pompously spooning oatmeal into my mouth as he sets Michael in front of his. I think I'm lucky Michael's sitting between us.

Cas starts eating, but I'm clearly getting the cold shoulder and I don't know how to fix it. I also really fucking hate it. I want Cas to smile at me again like before. "I don't care who checks me out, Cas."

"You do. You love it, Winchester." He's not teasing, he's still pissed at me. Well maybe I'm pissed at him.

"So what if I do? People looking at me isn't cheating, Cas."

"No it's not," he says still pissed. "You don't have to point it out though. It's hard enough watching them check you out."

Man, this morning is starting to suck. I was looking, so forward to Cas coming over, but we're already bickering. We eat in silence, and I watch Michael slowly eat his oatmeal. I gave him two bottles last night, so he should be good with the one bowl of oatmeal, but I never know. He's really enjoying it, still can't hold a spoon properly, but fuck is he cute. "Like it, Daddy," he says when he sees I'm looking at him. "Mmmm…apples!"

Huh. Maybe that's a favorite of his. I love apples too; I sure could go for some apple pie. I look up at Cas to see if he's forgiven me yet, it doesn't look like it. I can't stand him hating me. "I suck at this boyfriend thing Cas. I don't know how to fix this. Are you thinking about ways to break up with me?"

That thaws him a bit. "You may not have had a boyfriend, but you have had friends before haven't you? It's simple. Apologize. This is not something to break up over."

"Apologize? I never do that."

"That's not true, you've apologized to me before. Just last week in fact."

Figures he's kept track. "I was way over the line that time. This isn't anything like that."

"No, it's worse. This time we're dating, you're supposed to care about how I feel. Maybe you don't."

Wow. He looks really broken up over this. "I was joking, Cas and I am sorry. I was hoping you'd laugh."

"I accept your apology and I don't know why you'd think I would laugh. I already told you how I get—especially over you."

He looks shy, hurt, eyes up at me. "Don't look at me like that Cas. I said I was sorry—I really am."

"And I said you were forgiven."

"Then why do you still look like a hurt puppy?"

"Do I?"

"A bit. You own my ass, Cas. I've even agreed to be a monk for you—you gotta know I wouldn't do that for just anyone."

That finally breaks him; I get one of my special signature Cas smiles. "Okay Winchester. I can chalk this up to you being a thoughtless D-I-C-K. Don't do it again?"

"Cross my heart and hope to die, gum-drop, honey-pot."

That gets him to laugh. "You're ridiculous."

"Yep, but only for you." That should butter him up. I give him the Dean Winchester eyes.

"And incredibly charming. How am I supposed to stay mad at you?"

"You're not," I wink. "Besides, I have a feeling we're going to fight a lot, or at least bicker. If you stay mad at me for a long time, you'll always be mad at me."

"Irunman's mad too," Michael says getting involved in our conversation.

"Still?" I say. "That dude can hold a grudge. Do I have to say sorry to him too?"

Michael nods. "Kiss."

Our morning ends with me kissing up to Ironman after I've finished kissing up to Cas.

~BDD~

Our day is pretty much the same as yesterday. Bobby seems to know to expect us…all of us. Benny greets us all by calling us 'The Winchesters.' I don't bother punching him for that one, I'd do the same to him if he showed up with this 'family' every morning. Michael rotates between helping me out and hanging out with Cas. He lets Cas put him down for a nap again, while I eat beside him and feed him when he wakes up. I give him another bottle while Cas steps out to check on his coffee shop. The bottles have been awesome. Michael eats less at breakfast and lunch because of them, he still eats half my dinner, but I'm not starving like I was the first week. I'm going to have to make sure to always keep lots of milk in the house.

I get a fair amount of work done. Cas is awesome and he's fucking good with my son. I don't mean to, but I keep watching them throughout the day. Benny notices, but instead of making fun this time, he gives me a knowing smile. Fuck. Yeah, I'm in love. I've fallen for Cas. Hard. Just the very thought of him fills me with warm feelings and we haven't even had sex yet. What's it going to be like when we do?

I don't know what his deal breakers are, but I can't imagine there's anything I wouldn't do for him. Need I remind everyone, I've sworn off everyone else with no hope of sex in sight (okay yeah, we may have already covered that a few times, but that one's really hard, Cas is so damn sexy) I never thought I'd do that for anyone.

When Cas leaves to check on his shop, I miss him and fuck, I keep checking the time and looking at the door to see if he's back yet. I do that thing where I try not to think about him, but really all I'm doing is trying not to think about thinking about him, because I don't want to admit just how much he's starting to invade me.

When he finally returns a whole two hours later (what the fuck took so long?) I feel relieved. Jesus Christ what's happening to me? I have to stop what I'm doing, scoop up Michael and rush to Cas with a big goofy smile on my face and make-out with him in the middle of the shop. "Missed you," I even tell him. Fuck. When did I become the star of this cheesy rom-com?

But you know what? I don't even fucking care. I'm Freddy Prince jr. and Cas is…I dunno, Meg Ryan or something.

He does the thing where he fixes my hair and as he does, I notice I've got grease on him from kissing him. I pull a rag out of my coveralls, and try to wipe it away. "Shit, sorry Cas. Got you all greasey."

"Grease monkey, Daddy," Michael points out.

"Yep. Cas is a grease monkey now too."

~BDD~

I still have to ask Bobby if he's all right with me leaving early tomorrow, he scares the fucking bejeezus outta me when he asks Cas to take Michael and calls me into his office. Fuck. This is it. Bobby's had enough of me and doing me special favors 'cause I have a son now.

He asks me to sit and he does too, behind his desk. That's as official as Bobby gets. "Son," he says. "I've been wanting to talk with you about somethin' for a long time and I think now you'll finally listen."

I swallow. "If this is about Michael Bobby, I'm sorry. I know it's a pain in the ass to have a kid around and I'm slower, but I swear it's only temporary. I'm sure I'll find him a great shrink and—"

"Whoa there, calm down, son. I love having Michael here and I don't care if you take off early tomorrow for his doctor's appointment. You do what you need to do. What I want to talk to you about is your position here. Do you like this line of work, boy? I mean I know you do it and you do it well, but do you just do it because of the circumstances that led you here? Or because you want to?"

My heart is beating a millions miles a minute. Is Bobby firing me because I suck at my job? No. That can't be. I'm a damn good mechanic. Even I know that. "You're really confusing me right now Bobby, but yeah. I love my job. I love fixing cars."

"Good. Next, do you know I've given Benny two raises since he's been here?"

"Yeah, so? You've given me raises."

"The last raise you let me give you was when you found out how much Sam's tuition was going to be, that was a long time ago. Benny's only been here eight years and he's had two in that time."

I'm a bit calmer now that I know I'm not getting fired, but I'm riled about something else. "I can't take your money Bobby. What will you do?"

"I'm fine. My house is paid off and I've got lots saved, plus a good retirement plan. Also got me some other investments. We're still busy and even this shop is paid off, so my overhead's lower than it used to be. I'm giving you the raise I want to and that's the end of it."

"This is horseshit Bobby! I don't deserve a raise. Is this because of Michael?"

"Yes and no. Yes because I think once you calm down, you'll realize you need the money and accept it for him, no because I wouldn't give you the raise if I didn't think you deserved it."

"I don't give you my permission to do this."

"I don't need your permission to give you a raise, but what I do need your permission for is to give you my shop. Not yet, mind, in about ten years, I've still got some good years left in me and I figure that'll give you lots of time to think about it and time for me to show you the ropes of running the place. I'm kind of slow at that kind of stuff."

"Bobby…whoa I…I don't know what to say."

"Don't say anything for now and don't get any stupid ideas 'bout buying it from me, neither. If Karen and I had been able to have kids, I would have passed it down to whichever of them showed interest. You and Sam are the kids I never had and since he's off being bat lawyer, I figure, meh, you're good enough."

"Real funny, Bobby."

He laughs. "I don't even think Sam knows where to put the windshield wiper fluid."

Sam's not that bad, Bobby just likes to kid. Sam can change oil and some other minor things Dad and I taught him, but he's no mechanic. I'd never let him near the Impala.

"So just think on it, but I am giving you a raise and for the record, do what you need to do with Michael. You don't have to ask, just let me know and I can get someone else in to help out those days. But if I stop seeing Michael around here on account you think I think he's botherin' me, the deal's off. I'll wait 'till he's old enough and give the shop to him."

Well I'll be…

I'm bewildered and pissed off on the drive home. "What's wrong with you, Winchester?" Cas asks.

"Bobby gave me a raise and he wants to give me his shop."

"And this is news that makes your face twist up like a lemon because…?"

"Because! I don't deserve it. Bobby needs the money."

"Someday we're going to have a long chat over some of the things you say about yourself, but for now, Dean, you do need it. I figured out why you've lost weight, you think you can't afford extra food, so you give Michael half of yours."

Stupid figures everything out Cas. "What are you now? Some kind of detective?"

"Some call me Sherlock Holmes," he smirks. "Or it could just be my incredible brain power, either way I know that much. Whether you need more money or not, I don't know, but the point it you believe you do. I suggest you take the money and stop whining about it, especially since it's safe to assume he's giving it to you whether you want it or not?"

"Yeah. But what about his shop?"

"What about his shop?"

"I should at least pay him for it."

"He wants to gift it to you?"

"Yeah. That's crazy right?"

"What if it were Michael? Say you do take over the shop and Michael decides he wants to be a mechanic, would you want him buying your shop from you once you retire?"

"No way. I'd never take Michael's money for that. He'll need it for his life."

Figuring there's nothing else to say about that one, he grins quietly in the passenger seat, self-satisfied. "Okay, okay. I get what you're saying, but still, somehow it's not right. What do you think Michael? Should Daddy take over Grampa Bobby's shop?" He's already learned what the shop is and knows it's where I go to do my work.

"Yeah, Daddy. Like it. We can fix the cars together all the time?"

"Yeah, bud. We can fix them together all the time."

As soon as we're in the door, I'm sent to bed again. "Naptime Winchester. You're looking grey."

"You sure Cas? You've looked after him a lot today."

"That's why I'm here," he says unloading Michael from me, he curls into Cas. I think Michael is already used to having Cas around.

"I thought you were here to see me?" I pout.

"Go lie down, Winchester." Cas isn't having any of it.

"Fine. Do I get a kiss Michael?" I'm not kissing bossy Cas.

Michael leans forward and gives me a soother kiss on my cheek. I tousle his hair.

The blanket and pillow combo from yesterday are still on the couch, so I crash into the cushions and it doesn't take long before I'm out. When I wake up, there are two big blue eyes looking at me, Ironman is by my head again. I can smell food, so Cas must have used what I had in the fridge—we didn't stop at the market today. I rub my eyes and grab my Michael who's happy Daddy's awake, setting him on my lap and squeezing him. "Were you watching over Daddy while he sleeps?"

Michael takes his soother out. "Yeah Daddy and Irunman too."

"Oh. That's good. Did you help Cas make dinner again?"

"Yep. Macaroni and cheese! We can eat now Daddy? I waited and waited."

"Yeah, big guy," I say rubbing the sleep from my eyes and set him down on the ground.

Turns out, Cas makes a killer macaroni and cheese and I had enough apples in my fridge for him and Michael to make apple pie. "So when you moving in, babe?"

"If I'd known it would be this easy to woo you…but let's see if you're still saying that after I tell you what I expect in a relationship."

"If you're going to tell me it's kinky sex you're into, believe me that's not a problem. I've done some things," I say as I wipe Michael's hands with a cloth.

"Daddy, I has a bottle now?"

How awesome is my kid that he _likes_ going to sleep? If only he'd stay asleep. "You tired, bud?"

"I is sleepy, Daddy. We can goes to sleep now?"

It's only eight thirty, he hasn't had a bath yet, but he'll likely be up soon anyway, it's probably better he sleeps. I look to Cas for his opinion. He shrugs. "At this junction, it's probably best to let him sleep if he wants to. You should sleep some more too Dean, neither of you look good."

Yeah, he's probably right. I grab Michael up and his little legs curl around me. Cas starts on the dinner dishes while I get Michael a bottle. Michael wants Daddy Loves Me, so I read it to him as we rock and he drinks; it's not long 'till he's out cold as usual. Much as I want to see Cas a bit before he goes, I want to lay with Michael for just a few minutes. I play with his hair, touch his face and just admire him. I don't have much time to breath, since this little critter came into my life. Working this week's allowed even less time, least last week I was able to do things with him, but this week, I haven't had much to spend just enjoying him. Every waking moment's been taken up; when I'm not working, I'm making him food, changing his diaper, or trying to catch some shut eye. Fuck this sucks. I wish I was rich. _I wonder how many times my poor dad thought that?_

"This weekend, it's all about you buddy. No more working weekends for now. Grampa Bobby gave me a raise. It was a pretty fucking sneaky way of doing it, but he's right. I need more money, so I can have more time with you."

I hear a quiet laugh behind me. "Sorry, Winchester. You were up here a while, I came to see if you'd nodded off. I'm glad to hear you've come to your senses."

Cas is standing in the doorframe, a dishtowel slung over his shoulder. "Just enjoying him. There's not going to be much time for that being a single parent. I wonder if my dad ever did this?" I don't mean to say that out loud, but I do, still watching my son sleep. Something about Cas makes me want to pour my heart out to him. It's probably because he's a psychology doctor dude, they must get imbibed with special powers that make people want to spill their guts. Fuck. I'm crying now. "Cas I—"

He's already there and has me up and out of the room. Before I know it, I'm crying in his arms on the couch. "Your father loved you Dean."

"I know that. I never doubted that, but I was still pissed at him sometimes, only, I fucking get it now. And Sam, Sam hated him. _Hated_ him Cas. What if Michael hates me? I'm gonna be just as absent during the week and on the weekends as our dad was. I'll be a fucking zombie. Zombies can't play with kids Cas."

"Your father also knew you loved him and I'm sure Sam understands now that he's a parent."

"He's never said as much."

"Because I'm sure you give him ample opportunity, Winchester."

"The sarcasm is not appreciated, _Novak_."

"Am I wrong?"

"No." Stupid always right Cas. "But dudes aren't supposed to talk about their feelings."

"They're not? Hmmm…well that was a waste of a doctorate degree."

"You know what I mean Cas."

"No. I don't. I see nothing wrong with talking about feelings. In fact, if you agree to my deal breakers, I'm going to make you talk."

"What?" I say pulling away from him. "I thought it was kinky sex you were into? Wait, is this a new kind of kink? Sappy ass bromoment kink?"

He laughs. "No. Wait here, I'll be right back."

When he returns, he's got the backpack he brought over this morning and it's the first time I've seen him nervous. He pulls a brown paper bag out of his dorky looking backpack. "Winches—Dean, I know who I am. It took me some time to figure it out, but this is who I am." He hands me the brown paper bag and I accept it. The weight and the shape tells me there's a book inside. "My dissertation was on this topic. I later wrote and published a book, this is its third edition. I know you won't have time to read it all, but I'm hoping you'll have time to read the intro and the first chapter. I'll help you understand the rest; we can go through it together and you can use this as a reference, if you're even interested, if you don't just tell me to get the fuck out. Right now, I assume that is more likely."

"You're kind of scaring me Cas."

"I love you, baby," he says. "Can I just…can I kiss you one more time before you open that?"

"C'mere, dope. You're being ridiculous." I pull him down on the couch with me and he kisses me like it's the last time he ever will. "I'm sure there's nothing in here that will make me tell you to get the fuck out because…I love you too Cas."

I've never fucking said that to anyone that wasn't my family, in my adult life…well, and mean it, but it's not having the effect on Cas that I thought it would. Cas fixes my hair like he always does and looks sad. Holy shit. He really does think we could be over before we've started. "Okay, open it, Baby."

I pull the book out of the brown paper bag. It's hard cover and inside a black jacket that's got red marbled into the background. The title is also in red, done in a slightly fancy font, it says: _The Couple's Guide to Loving Domestic Discipline. By Castiel Novak Ph.D._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought long and hard about leaving it here. I wanted to add what they discuss next, but I think it's more important their discussion be separate from this chapter. So I'm sorry to end it here, I really am. 
> 
> On the bright side, the next chapter is almost done, so you'll have it soon! I want chapter twelve to be killer, 'cause it's important! So I'll work on it today and hopefully post tomorrow.


	13. Domestic Discipline: Not What You Think

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> **IMPORTANT. PLEASE READ BEFORE READING:**  
> 
> 
> Ughhhh....Okay. Last chapter, some ppl were concerned. I wasn't comfortable with the way in which they voiced that concern, since this story is tagged. They missed the tags. Classic story. So we're all clear moving ahead I'm posting this:
> 
> As much as this is a story about Dean and his new son Michael, it is also a Destiel Domestic Discipline adventure! 
> 
> No matter how I write it, even if I were the best writer on Earth, which I'm most certainly not, some will still not understand the DD dynamic. Heck. It was brought to my attention that some did not understand the whole Cas 'making' Dean be his boyfriend was meant to be funny. I mean, I know some will not share my sense of humor, but I thought it was pretty obvious from the way I'd written Dean, that's he's strong enough to get one little coffee shop barista off his back. He barely even tried. 
> 
> But moving on...
> 
> This chapter is almost 5K of Cas and Dean's conversation about DD. I think there is enough here for all to make their decision as to whether they want to go further than this. Of course, it wouldn't be an 'adventure' if I wrote it all in this one chapter. There will be more examples of how DD works displayed by the characters along the way and of course we have helpful Cas to regale us with tales of other DD couples from this practice (how convenient). And of course, the very helpful book Cas wrote, which Dean will skim through at some point. 
> 
> So, after this chapter it might be time for you to get off the train and that's ok! I don't want to hold back. I want to write this exactly how the characters intend it to be, without worrying about offending people. After all, I don't make you read my stuff. I'd much rather you just press 'X' than to hear complaints. I post here for fun. It's not fun to get complaints. Of course, I am okay with respectful discussion over the topic. I know some will want to understand even if it's not their cup of tea. Don't be afraid to chat, but please don't accuse the characters of abuse. I would have put a warning if I thought that there was abuse in this story. Far as I'm concerned, each character is right where he wants to be. And I swear this note isn't to get "there, there Mocks," I just really want all involved to have fun through the journey of this story and that includes ol' Mock. 
> 
> Okay! Sorry for that. I'm really excited about this chapter and for the DD to begin.

"Cas? Explain."

He sighs again, heavily, but he's smiling even though I'm glowering and when he begins to talk I see why; he does love this topic. "I've been obsessing over how to begin this topic with you, there's so much to cover really. I want to tell you everything, my story, my research, my own realizations, but I think it best to start simple with, what is domestic discipline?"

"Sounds good to me," I say unsure if I really want to hear.

"My view of relationships is that there should only be one captain. Sure there's a first mate, things are discussed, ideas are tossed around, but only one person takes that information and makes the final decisions."

"I'm no relationship expert, Cas, this is my first real adult one," I admit. "But I thought people co-piloted the plane?"

"That's just my point, there's still only one pilot Dean. I believe one of the top reasons for divorce is because relationships are not run this way, with only one Head of House. Rarely do relationships run well on a democracy."

"That's not true. My brother and his husband have a great relationship, they don't have a whatchamacallit? A head of house."

"Sure. But I'd bet my coffee shop one of them is more in charge than the other. Even though they don't have this system, the power balance is still swayed more heavily one way. If they did have a system like this, it would result in less fighting—even I've seen them bicker. While I had my practice, I successfully turned many couples who'd never even considered such a thing, onto DD."

They do fight a lot and it does always seem to be Gabe sucking up to Sam. Is that what he means? I don't really want to get into discussing the dynamic of my brother's relationship with Gabe. I want to know how this 'DD' thing affects me exactly. "So one captain of the ship, that doesn't sound so bad, but what happens when the, uh, first mate disagrees with the captain's decision?"

"That's just the thing: He doesn't. Everything is discussed beforehand; the Head of House is trusted with the responsibility of making the decision best for the home. Of course the spouse's opinion is heard and taken under heavy consideration—that's what puts the 'loving' in loving DD—it's the spouse's role to accept these decisions even if there are some the spouse is not completely happy with. After all, the spouse did 'elect' their head of house, so to speak."

"What if the head of house makes a shitty decision?"

"Even the head of house is prone to mistakes, it's true, they're still human, but so long as the head of house had good and loving intent, the spouses are usually forgiving. If not, I usually suggest ditching that head of house, it's really as simple as that. By the way, Dean, thank-you for not kicking me out and at least entertaining this conversation."

"Why wouldn't I?"

"I know it's not…usual. I did think it might anger you."

"Cas, I love you. That hasn't changed. If this is something you need and believe in, least I can do is listen, no harm in that. I mean, I'm going to be honest too. I think you're a bit nuts at the moment and if you weren't a doctor, I'm not sure I'd be open enough to actually consider it as a relationship. I'm an open minded guy and this is something else." 'Cause of course as we're talking, I'm going to be picturing us in the scenario; my questions are likely to have me as the star of them, so yeah, that means I'm considering what he's saying on a deeper level than just 'hearing' about some alternative lifestyle he's sharing with me.

"I know. It's a lot to digest. Thanks, this means a lot."

"So the head of house is 'elected' by the spouse, the spouse has chosen this person to make their decisions. Whether the spouse likes the decision or not, he or she accepts those decisions."

"Right."

"What about equality? That doesn't sound very equal Cas."

"Many people confuse the word equal with the word identical. Of course the pair are equal in terms of their human rights, neither is more or less than the other, but it's their roles that are different. You and police officers are equal as people, aren't you?"

"Well, yeah."

"You have to follow the rules set by government, whether you agree with them or not, or the police officers get to punish you. You are equal as people, your roles are not the same, understand?"

"Yeah…that makes sense. Does that mean the head of house makes the rules too?"

"Yes and doles out punishment when those rules are not followed. The spouse gets say in those rules, but again, all final decisions are made by the head of house. The spouse may not like some of the rules, but they created to the benefit all in the home, and must be followed."

"And what if the head of house breaks a rule?"

"It's fairly rare, since part of the head of house's role is to uphold the rules, but it does happen. It's usually extremely embarrassing for a good head of house. Not only do they make the rules, they believe in them and feel they've let their entire household down by not setting a good example. It's a huge responsibility being head of house. However, it ruins the dynamic of power to have the head of house subject to the same punishments as the spouse. I've seen couples do different things, it usually consists of the head of house apologizing profusely. In one home, the head of house had a rule that if he broke the rules; he had to treat each member to a special dinner, one-on-one. Another gave 'get out of jail free' cards to her house if she ever broke a rule. I'm not a huge fan of that one, it never works well to allow someone to 'get away' with something. Once couples settle into this lifestyle, they tend to find out which personality they are…the spouse expects to be held accountable and if they are not, they usually end up breaking rules until their head of house disciplines them. Sometimes, they just ask for punishment."

That sounds insane. I can't imagine anyone asking for punishment. "You keep saying 'household,' does that mean Michael is subject to the same?"

"Now we're getting a bit more specific. Dean I—"

"I know you want to be 'elected' as head of house Cas, I'm not stupid."

"No. You're not stupid. I wouldn't want to do this with someone stupid," he smiles huge at me. I can't help blushing.

"So, Michael?"

"With children, the parents usually make a set of rules and consequences for the children together, just like in any other family, only differing in that the head of house has final say—at least that's how I consult my clients. Our situation is unique, Dean. I am not Michael's parent. You and I need to build a relationship first, before we add Michael to our equation. Before you can trust me to make decisions for your son, you need to know you can trust me with you."

I nod. That makes me feel better. Sounds like I don't have to think about that one for a bit.

"It's also the head of house's job to take care of everyone, Dean. Ninety-five percent of couples I worked with, really enjoyed the lifestyle because of that."

I wish I could say I didn't need anyone taking care of me, but it has been nice having Cas here helping. Even at the store, he was a big help. "Who takes care of you?"

Cas smiles. "You do, baby. The spouse has their own special role to the head of house."

"The whole punishment aspect makes it sound a bit like that kinky BDSM stuff."

"I am familiar with that and have counselled those couples too. I assure you, DD and BDSM are not the same. Strictly speaking, there is no Dominant and Submissive in DD, however, I have known couples to combine the two lifestyles. Many consider the head of house the more dominant partner and the spouse the more submissive one, but it's not quite that black and white. It is not the spouse's role to simply submit to his or her spouse. However, there is an element of that for many couples. The words 'dominant' and 'submissive' can be used as adjectives to describe roles, but this is not to say that a head of house is a person's 'Dom.' Therefore a head of house can be a dominant personality, without being referred to as a Dom. The spouse can submit to a punishment, and even feel a sense of submissiveness, without defining themselves as a 'Sub.' Make sense?"

"I think so, but uh, I think I'm going to have to refer to your book on that one." 

"Fair. Another difference between the two lifestyles, a big one, there's no safe wording out in a DD relationship. In BDSM, sometimes 'no' doesn't mean 'no' because they are role playing a fantasy, which is the reason for a safeword. DD couples are not role playing. No means no. If I ask you for sex and you don't feel like it, you say no and that's the end of it. However, some DD couples practice BDSM, which is more than you and I will ever need to worry about. I consider BDSM more of a fantasy lifestyle. It's even termed 'play.' There's nothing wrong with wanting to live a fantasy, I encourage it and have recommended it for the right people, but it's just not for me."

"But what if a punishment gets too much for someone?"

"That's just the point, the punishment is meant to be just this side of too much. It's not supposed to be enjoyable, it's supposed to be a deterrent. Everyone would safe word out of punishment if that were the case. Many believe that people do this because of the sexual thrill one gets from spanking, or even the release. That may or may not be true for someone choosing the DD lifestyle. Sometimes a spanking is simply a deterrent and nothing more. And believe me, the punishments I give are meant to deter. They hurt, but they are fair."

His voice is a bit thrilling when he says that and it makes me blush. I have to look away briefly before I can look at him again. "Then how do you prevent abuse?"

"Same way you do in any other relationship. All relationships are susceptible to abuse with or without a safeword. Even in relationships without any of these elements, either DD or BDSM can result in abuse. So, I usually recommend what I would for any couple: The spouse should have a good network of friends who he or she can rely on to talk things out with. Strong communication between the head of house and the spouse is a must—the spouse should always get to be heard and never be punished for opinions—of course there is a difference between giving a respectful opinion and being rude when giving an opinion. If the spouse feels too harshly punished, it is important that he or she be allowed to voice that concern. The head of house can then re-evaluate their actions and so can the spouse. If the spouse is feeling too harshly punished on a regular basis, either it is a situation of abuse, or the lifestyle is not working for the spouse. It's the head of house's job to find the right punishment not just for the offense, but also for that individual; sometimes adjustment is warranted. These are all things the couple devises together over time.

"Not to mention, Baby, in our situation, I'm pretty sure you could kick my ass if you really wanted to. That and I'm big on 'the choice to obey,' as I've written about in my book. I'd rather have someone obey me because they respect me and the decisions I make rather than it be a game of forcing someone to comply. I'd really question my methods if I found there were constant arguments and unwillingness to comply with the rules. I strive to be as fair as I can to everyone involved."

"Does that mean you've done this before?"

"Yes. I was in love with a woman once."

So far, that's the worst thing he's told me. I could handle all the other stuff, but picturing _my_ Cas with someone else makes my stomach churn. "Wh-what happened?"

Cas reaches out and takes my hand, rubbing it reassuringly. So far during this conversation, he's been afraid to touch me, likely afraid I wasn't going to want him anymore and that I wouldn't let him. "It's okay, sweetheart. We simply fell out of love. The DD aspects of our relationship were solid. She got so much positive out of it, when we parted ways, she asked me to help her find someone in the community and I did. We're still friends."

Still friends? I don't like that. Maybe Cas isn't the only jealous guy.

"That and my jealousy tends to be a problem for some, she found it a bit difficult. It's my biggest flaw, but I try to make up for it in other ways. I wouldn’t expect that to change much, it comes with the package."

"It's not a flaw Cas. If you're flawed then so am I. I get jealous too." Well, with him I do. Can't say I cared too much about any of the people I've dated in my adult life. Maybe Marty Boman, my first boyfriend in high school.

"I hope you say that again when I forbid you hanging out with someone I don't trust."

Something about the way he says that makes me shiver…in a good way. "Don't you trust me?"

"I've explored that heavily. For instance, I trusted Anna completely. For me it's a control thing. Not in that I want to control you, but in that I can't stand having someone touching and fawning over my lover. While I can trust you not to do that, I can't trust someone else not to, I have no control over that. The thought drives me insane. In the end, and after working on it for years and years, I've realized it's just me. Something to take or leave. I'm always understanding when someone leaves me over it—I can see how it can make me hard to live with. But everyone has things like this Dean. No one is perfect, it's my imperfection and I accept it now. I do have rules surrounding it, which are simply to make life easier for my partner and I—again, something to take or leave. At the end of the day, it's still very much the spouse's choice if they want to be with any particular head of house, but the door does swing both ways."

"Hypothetically, what if I asked you never to see what's her face?"

"Anna?"

"Yeah, Anna. What if I 'forbid' you from seeing Anna?"

"I would never see her again. Would you like me not to see her?"

"Whoa Cas, that's nice you'd do that for me, but isn't that wrong?"

"According to who? We decide what is right and wrong for us. If it was completely silly, I'd say we should discuss it further, but I can understand that one. Many couples allow other people to come between them for nothing more than society telling them it is 'wrong' to stop seeing a friend your spouse is uncomfortable with. They call it controlling. Of course there are instances where it can become controlling, but saying every instance is controlling is incorrect. if the person in question is creating particular problems for the couple, it's time to evaluate that relationship. In the least discuss it. Not every situation will be cause for ending the friendship, but sometimes it is warranted."

"But I feel uncomfortable dictating something like that."

"You do because you don't know Anna. She's not yet been the cause of quarrel between us. There is part of you that feels your demand irrational and you would be correct. You are making the request on what you think could happen. Whether that's 'right' or 'wrong,' I'm saying I agree with you; right and wrong is for us to decide between us. I would feel the same way Dean. I don't know that I could ever be comfortable with you hanging out with exes and it's only fair that if I'm going to make that request from you, I do the same. I'll never ask you to do something I would never do. Head of house does not entitle one to hypocrisy."

"For the record, I'm not making that request, I just wanted to know. You can see Anna, Cas."

Cas smiles affectionately. "For the record, except for in the case of exes, I wouldn't make the request without first trying to resolve it between you, me and the third party." 

"I don't have any exes, so we don't have to worry about that one," I smirk at him. "All of what you said makes sense to me, but one of my concerns is the fact that I'm a domineering personality to begin with. Doesn't that kind of thing 'cause a conflict of interest with this sort of thing? Shouldn't I be, I dunno, more submissive?"

Cas is still smiling at me adoringly. "I love your commanding presence and your dominance. I can't wait to have you fuck me. Of course I also want to fuck you; I really hope you're okay with taking turns."

Holy fuck. All I can do is nod.

"Your dominance is what attracted me to you in the first place. I'm not here to 'beat' that out of you, or subjugate you. You would never be my submissive, ever. As I said, I'm simply not into that type of play. It's not like that at all. This is the place where experiencing it comes in handy, where it gets harder to explain. For now, the best example I can think of is your relationship with Bobby. You do as he asks even if sometimes you'd rather not. A good for instance is that raise he's 'forcing' you to take for your own good. You are one commanding personality working 'under' another. You don't have to change who you are to show him respect. I don't want you to be anyone other than who you are, but I want your respect just as you will have mine. The only place we differ is our roles."

I nod. That makes me feel better about this whole thing, there's no way I could change who I am and that would be a deal breaker for me. I sigh. "Look Cas, I don't do well thinking on things too long, I'm better at just doing. I couldn't tell you if I'm into this sort of thing or not, I…would you be okay with a trial run? We could start off slow."

"I'd love that Dean. In my wildest dreams, I didn't think I could have this with you. That you're willing to try it is…fuck, you've just made me the happiest man alive."

That makes me feel bad. What if I don't like it?

"Now why the sour lemon look, Winchester?"

"I mean what I said, I love you and I want to try, but what if it doesn't work? God Cas, I'm already…"

"It's okay, baby. I think it will work, know why?"

"Why?"

"Because I'm almost always right."

"Asshole," I say and hit him, but my eyes go wide. "Shit. I guess I probably shouldn't do that, man my ass is going to be red."

He laughs and pulls me to him, embracing me. "Well first, we haven't established any rules. It would hardly be fair for me to punish you when you didn't know how to behave, that's another role of the head of house: Making sure everyone in the household is familiar with the rules."

"Oh."

"Second, I don't mind that. To me there's a difference between name calling in jest and name calling for real. You're right that I wouldn't like it if I thought you were trying to be insolent, but with something like that, I would give a warning, since it's a little grey. At least in the beginning, once we get to know each other, things may change, but I'm thinking too far ahead. I'm pretty sure I've already overwhelmed you, told you too much, but I'm really excited you want to try. Also for the record, name calling is part of our dynamic. I don't want that part to change, unless you do?"

I shake my head. "No, but, okay, hit me with it Cas. Tell me a rule. It'll drive me crazy trying to guess what you'll want. Wait, let me guess, no swearing in front of Michael."

"Oh no. You're going to make that rule for yourself someday. I won't have you hating me for that, especially since it has to do with Michael. I don’t like it, but I have more issue with the way you think about yourself, Winchester."

Whoa. That's two huge bites in one. "You think I'm going to make that a rule for myself. Wait. I get to make rules?"

"Of course you do. Rules for the household you would like to see me enforce. And yes, I do think you are going to ask for my help with that one. I've tried reasoning with you about it and you still reject my logic. In this specific case, I think you would do better to come to the realization yourself."

Oh. That's surprising. This isn't at all like I thought.

"But how you talk about yourself? I don't think you'll ever come to the realization on your own that you shouldn't. I don't even think you realize you do it. I want you to know how amazing you are Dean. I wish you could see how you love your boy—you're one of the best Dads I've ever seen."

I'm really glad I'm cuddled into Cas right now, so he can't see me blushing. I can handle all the stuff he's talking about; heads of house, rules, hell, even spanking, but not all the nice shit. "So is that an official rule?"

"Unless you have any qualified objections?"

"I do. How about I don't like talking about that shit? It makes me uncomfortable."

"I'm not asking you to talk about it, yet, or asking you to chant positive phrases in the mirror, I'm simply asking you to think before you make negative comments about yourself. If it helps, think about Michael hearing and understanding some the things you say. Would you like that?"

"Well, no."

"All I'm doing is providing you with a deterrent." Cas frowns. "Perhaps we start with something easier?"

"No, I can do that Cas. I mean, how hard can it be?"

"That's a dangerous expression, Winchester."

I'm quiet for a minute. "Are you really going to make me chant positive phrases in the mirror, Cas? Is that some kind of shrink bullshit?"

Cas has to put his hand over his mouth to keep from laughing too loud. "What's so funny about that?"

"What's not funny about it? There are punishments other than spanking, remember that if you should think to disobey me." He's still fucking laughing and I'm a dope because I don't care that he's laughing at me, I'm just happy he's laughing.

"How does this work around other people?" I ask when he finally stops for air.

"However we want it to Dean. It's no one else's business but ours."

"Okay, another question."

"Ask as many as you want, though I am going to put a cap on tonight soon, you should go to bed."

He's 'sent me to bed' before, but his orders have already taken on a whole new meaning to me, they're both strange (only because it's new I think) and comforting at the same time. I've never really had someone look out for me quite like that. Sam looks after me in his own way, sure, like making sure I know what to stock in Michael's diaper bag, but that's very kid to parent. You know? Like making sure your sick Dad knows which pills he takes on Wednesday and then on Friday. This already feels different than that and I think…I think I'm going to fucking like it.

I was scared when I first looked at that title; I thought Cas was saying he wanted to control every aspect of my life, but now I'm thinking that's not it. It's the same feeling I get from knowing the house is locked tight for the night, only it gets to come from somewhere else, somewhere other than me.

"Dean?"

"Huh?"

"The question?"

"Sorry, spaced out. I've got so many. What I was going to ask, what if I…break a rule when you're not around? Does that count?"

"If a tree falls in the forest Winchester, and no one is around to hear it, does it still make a sound? Yes, of course it does."

"How will you know?"

"You'll tell me."

"Ha! Fat chance of that. I'm not going to rat myself out Cas."

"Yes you will."

"Is there a punishment for not telling I should know about?" I say to illustrate that I've been paying attention.

"No. I mean, I think honesty is an important pillar in any relationship, Dean, but one of the keys to this style of relationship, at least for me, is respect. You either respect me enough to tell me the truth, or you don't. People often assume a domestic discipline relationship runs purely on control through spanking and forget that it's about you respecting me and me respecting you. I'm not going to babysit you either Dean. If you think you can get away with something, by all means, don't tell me, but it doesn't change that it's deceitful, or how hurt I will be if I do find out. I also stand by what I said earlier and what I wrote in there," he says tapping the book. "You chose to obey me; I won't make you."

Jesus Christ that's some speech. I don't stand a fucking chance do I? I think I'd better try to read this fucking book. I yawn really big.

"Okay, I think that's enough for tonight, we already went way further than I intended."

"What if I said no? We didn't make a rule for that."

"I would say, test me and find out."

"Seriously, though Cas. I'm not being a dick, I want to know how that works."

"You were being a little bit of a dick. Don't look surprised that I know that, I've watched you for five years Winchester, I've learned a thing or two about you."

Stupid knows everything Cas.

"This is the last question I'm answering—don't think I didn't notice you slipped another question in after I've already said no more questions."

Stupid notices everything Cas.

"I make the decisions, remember? It is a rule that I get to make the decisions, which you have consented to follow. I've _decided_ that you would benefit from sleep and as soon as possible. If you disobey me, I will punish you."

"All right, all right. I'm going to bed."

Cas smiles. "Thank-you, Dean."

"Don’t thank me too much, I'm zonked. The only reason I have any energy for this conversation, is because I'm strangely fascinated."

"That's not what I'm thanking you for. I'm thanking you for being brave enough to try this with me."

"Oh, well uh, you're welcome," I say hoping he'll kiss me goodnight.

He does better, he thrusts his hand up my shirt and tweaks my nipple as he practically climbs on top of me and presses his lips to mine. He kisses me hard, breathing me in and moving his hand to my back, pulling me closer. Once I figure out just what the fuck is going on, I respond by also pulling Cas closer, by the nape of his neck, but since he's fucking touching my body, I want to fucking touch his, 'cept I'm nervous.

My nervousness has nothing to do with this whole domestic discipline thing. Cas has spent a long fucking time assuring me; I don't feel forced and I don't feel like he's going to suddenly haul off and hit me. I'm nervous because he's so fucking special to me.

I've spend the last decade and a half fucking whatever looked good with two legs. Sure I liked some of them, but I can't even remember who Michael's fucking mother is for Christ's sake. Now, I've got all these feelings for Cas, strong feelings, feelings like, oh fuck, sunshine and fucking rainbows. I know how sex can make things worse. It can also make things really fucking good.

There's no doubt in my mind now that Cas and I will have sex, I'm not stupid enough to think it's going to be tonight, but each little step we take means something to me. Putting my hand up his shirt is like a base, isn't it? I can't fucking remember the definitions of all the bases, since I usually just hit a home fucking run and stick my dick in some hole. With Cas, I already feel like I've hit the home run and I didn't need sex to get there.

So I'm slow, and hesitant and fucking nervous because it's Cas and I want to remember the moment I decided to slide my hand up his shirt for the first time, I want it to be as special as he is.

I start at the hem, of course, which he must have untucked sometime while he did dishes, it's hanging over his pants, to his thigh, so I climb my hand up to the waist band, take a deep breath into his mouth, as he kisses me and slide my hand up his shirt. I'm touching him, his smooth skin. Like it. I trickle my fingers slowly up his abs, until I find his nipple and hang out there awhile, then I slide my hand around to his back, savoring his lat muscle with my finger tips. "Fuck, Winchester, we have to stop, or I'm going to have you right here on this couch."

He was the one talking about fucking over the sofa. "Please, Cas. Believe me, you can have me. I'm all yours, babe."

He pulls away smiling. "You need to sleep, but fuck, this is getting harder."

"As hard as my dick?"

Hearing about my hard dick flusters Cas a bit, but only for a second. "As hard as _my_ dick."

He helps me up off the couch, I groan. "Don't talk about your dick Cas, unless you're going to stick it in me."

"Goodnight, Winchester. See you in the morning?"

"Yeah and hey, Cas, I forgot, but I'm having dinner at my brother's house tomorrow night."

"Oh, well, okay."

It's my turn to laugh at him; I can tell he's disappointed. "You wanna come?"

"Really?" His face brightens again. "You're comfortable with introducing me as…"

"My boyfriend, Cas. You're my boyfriend." Saying that felt weird before; it doesn't feel so weird now. I'm proud of it and I can't wait to freak Sam and Gabe out.

"I'm so happy to get to be your boyfriend, Winchester." 

"And I'm happy to be yours, but Cas...don't take this the wrong way, but on Saturday, I want to spend time with just Michael. You know? Like a Daddy and Michael day."

"I'm not offended in the least. Your relationship with your son has only just begun Dean. I may not be a kid 'shrink,'" he says in air quotes. "But even I know how important it is for you to spend one-on-one time with your son. I have the author day at the Coffee Shop I have to be there for anyway and you've already expressed you have no interest in bringing Michael, so that's perfect."

Shit. I forgot about that. "I was just being an asshole when I said that. I forgot it was this Saturday. You know what would be more perfect?"

"What's that?"

"If one of the Daddy and Michael day things was bringing him to see the author of 'Apples in a Barrel.'"

"You remembered the name? I'm impressed Winchester."

"I'm not just a pretty face," I wink at him. "And secretly I was planning on trying to get that book for Michael. Even when I 'hated' you," I say in air quotes, "I still knew you knew your shit about books. It's inevitable he's going to be a bookworm like Sammy, I want him to have the best ones."

That makes Cas laugh. "Okay, Winchester. You'll come by with Michael for the reading, but the rest of the day is Daddy and Michael day."

"All right, but now I have to say goodnight. I'd better get to bed before I have to tell my head of house, my boyfriend kept me up all night."

That joke seems to take him to another level of happy. "I love you, Winchester."

"Love you too, Cas."


	14. And I Do Appreciate You Bein' 'Round

Last night was my worst night yet with Michael. There didn't seem to be a rhyme or reason to it, but he was up all night. He cried for half the night, fell asleep with every bottle I gave him, but woke shortly after.

Thank God Cas left when he did. It was still fairly early when he left. We talked awhile, but since Michael went to bed shortly after dinner, we ended wrapping up around nine-thirty. I was so fucking tempted to stay up and read that book Cas gave me, which was fucking weird to begin with. I've never wanted to read anything that bad in my life. The only thing 'making' me go to bed was realizing that if I didn’t, I'd have to tell Cas because he 'told' me to 'go to bed, Winchester.' It was a good thing I did. I crawled in, wrapped myself around Michael and got two blissful hours of sleep before Michael woke up the first time.

I stopped trying to get him to sleep around four. We've both been up since then and we're trying to go through our morning motions; failing horribly. I 'made' us cereal for breakfast, which even I know is shit. It's funny, I wouldn't have thought twice about a cereal morning if it was just me, but now that I've got Michael, I feel like the worst Dad ever giving him Raisin Bran. Speaking of food, I'm running low on it, I should probably go grocery shopping tomorrow. The thought makes me more tired.

I've got my spoon speared into my bowl upright and I'm leaning on the hand holding it, fighting to keep my eyes open, but I end up nodding off for little bits. Michael's not doing much better, listlessly staring at the bowl in front of him, like he's forgotten how to eat, or contemplating which need is tugging at him more, sleep or hunger. Sleep wins as his eyes slowly flicker closed then open, closed then open and finally closed, his head slowly drifts down to rest on the table.

I jolt awake when Cas is suddenly there, in his trench coat, looking like a furious angel.

How did he…? Oh right, I unlocked the door on my way downstairs. "You cannot go on like this Winchester."

I jolt at his abrupt tone; my spoon clatters into my bowl. He moves over to Michael. "Come here my lad," he says and lifts Michael to him, only complaining for a second when he realizes his soother has been left on the table, reaching out for it. Cas picks it up and hands it to him, he puts it in his mouth, starts sucking and rests his head on Cas's shoulder as Cas sways him.

I rub my eyes and blink at Cas. Fuck I'm so glad he's here. He's right. I can't go on like this, Michael and I can't go on like this, but I don't know what the fuck to do. Thank God I have that doctor's appointment today. Cas looks like he's thinking hard about something. That can't be good.

"You have two choices, Winchester. Call Bobby and tell him you're staying home from work—"

"What? Forget it, Cas. I have to work. Not everyone is a doctor with a coffee shop."

He's got his furious angel look back on and it makes me want to crawl under a rock. "I do believe, I was speaking. If you'll kindly allow me to finish."

"Proceed," I snark at him a bit, okay, a lot.

"Call Bobby and tell him you're staying home from work today, or go in for half the day and allow me to stay the night, to see if I can be of assistance, so you can get at least one night of sleep."

"No. Neither of those."

"Well, you have to do one. Choose, or I'll choose for you."

It's a weird feeling when he says that. Even in my tired state, I'm still aware of what I said I'd try with him and remember that I said I wanted to do it, to experience it. Here it is right before me and I'm frozen, can barely look at him; I don't know what to say back, so of course I go with 'act like a dick.'

"And what if I don't do what you fucking 'choose?'"

"You're tired and your responses are a product of that, but don't think I won't hand out consequences for this sort of behavior Winchester, because I will. Consider that your warning."

Holy crap. He just totally laid down the law. It's so easy for him. It's also enough to shut me the fuck up.

"I'm going to give you a moment to yourself, so you can decide without me standing over you. Michael's asleep, I'll go up and dress him while you think."

Whoa. It's true. Michael's out. I still find it impressive he'll sleep on Cas, he won't do that with anyone else, other than me and his comfort level with Cas has only increased with having him around the past couple of days. Cas starts walking away. "What the fuck is this Cas? Time out? This is bullshit."

"Call it what you want Winchester," Cas says unfazed by my belligerence. "But decide by the time I get back."

He walks off and I'm left crossing my arms and leaning back in my chair fucking pouting. I'll show him time out. I get up, purposefully and start cleaning up both my and Michael's breakfasts since neither of our stomachs can handle food this morning on so little sleep, accumulated over a week and a half. Shit. I realize something, now that I'm stopping to think about it: That's just for me. How long has Michael gone without good sleep? Aw fuck, I'm crying now. I'm too tired to even pretend I'm not emotional over the whole thing.

Not wanting to fucking dwell on what my poor son has been through (only because the thoughts are too angering for me and I'll just want to punch shit) I think about what Cas asked me to think about and it's a good distraction, which focuses my thoughts. I shouldn't, because he's such a bossy asshole, but ugh, I know he's fucking right. I also know Cas will only present me with decisions that are to my benefit, even if I might not like them. Truth is, I won't stop. I'm like my father that way. I'll run myself into the fucking ground and die of a heart attack way too young. Fuck. Now I'm thinking about Dad and all his trials and tribulations as a single parent. Here I am lucky enough to have help, Cas just cares about me and I was a fucking dick to him.

As I wipe away tears and put away the breakfast dishes, I think I already get something about this lifestyle. Cas gave me two choices. I know both benefit me…and not just me, Michael too. Either choice is safe and it's all I have to think about making now, because Cas said so really. No other reason. I don't have to care about any other hundreds of possible scenarios, or about fucking up. This is on his head if one of those decisions is wrong. It reminds me a bit of what it was like helping raise Sammy. Dad was my fall guy. I didn't feel like I could fuck up with Sammy. If I did, it was somehow Dad's fault and not mine. Wow. I really wouldn't want to be a head of house, that much I already know. I don't think I could take on making decisions for everyone like that. Not that I can't make decisions, I can, but when it has the potential to screw up someone else's life, like say, Michael's, I'd rather have a fall guy I can trust.

Cas comes up behind me and puts a hand on my back, so I'll turn around, he sees my red eyes and his become laced with concern. "I'm sorry, Cas. I know I was supposed to sit there and think, but I…"

"Wanted to prove I don't control you?"

"I guess."

He's laughing. "Sorry, it's funny, because I didn't actually tell you to sit there. You assumed that," he says softly.

"I…oh." Yeah, he didn't say that. Michael's managed to stay asleep the entire time Cas changed him, he's still fast asleep on Cas's shoulder. "Cas, I'm sorry I was a dick. You're right and I don't want to choose, I can't, will you…will you do it for me? Please?" I sniffle and he looks me over, using his free hand to fix my hair as he does.

"I can do that for you, Baby. That's what I'm here for. Go get ready for work. I think it's better you see just how useless you are when you're this tired, you'll be more than happy to leave by noon. You both can sleep before the doctor's appointment and you'll be somewhat fresh for it."

All of that sounds so fucking logical. "Oh god, thanks, babe," I say hugging him as he puts his arm around me now holding both Michael and I, but I'm still worried about something. "If I keep missing work like this, I'm not going to be able to afford Michael, Cas."

"This is all going to get sorted. It's just in the beginning. If you allow us to help you, all of us, that includes your brother, it's not going to come to that. I won't let it."

I nod into the other side of his neck.

When we're finally on the way to work, I see Cas smirking at me out of the corner of his eye, on the verge of laughing. "What's so funny?"

"You are."

"Why?"

"That was a world class tantrum you threw. I had my suspicions about you, but I wasn't sure, you convinced me today."

"Of what?" I say defensively.

"You, Dean Winchester, are a Brat."

"A brat?" I'm too shocked to stay mad.

"For many reasons," he says, one hundred percent sure of himself. "But number one being, because you thought I told you to remain seated, you got up just to spite me and probably to test me."

"I thought you said you thought it was because I wanted to prove you don't control me, that you're not the boss of me."

"I don't control you, but I am the boss of you. Just like Bobby doesn't control you, but he is your boss. After thinking about it for a bit, there's more to it. You were definitely testing me, even if you didn't know you were. It's okay Dean. It's natural."

"Yeah? Well anyone ever tell you, you think too much Cas?"

"I have been told that before. Sadly, it may be an unfavorable trait, you might have to live with if you chose to stay with me…is this something that's going to make you reconsider me?"

I reach out and grab his hand, one hand still on the steering wheel and squeeze tight. "Not for any reason Cas. You're stuck with us. If you try to leave, I'm pulling 'a you' and following you around 'till you take me back again. Maybe my, uh, bratness is unfavorable to you?"

"Never in a million years. I love brats and I know just how to handle them."

"What do you mean brats, plural? I'd better be the only one on your list."

He laughs. I can see his eyes sparkling in my periphery. "You are, love. My one and only."

~BDD~

As is starting to become an annoying trend, Cas is fucking right. I'm completely useless in the shop and I count down the seconds 'till noon when Cas and I can leave. I earn a couple of comments from Cas about how stubborn I am, because I don't leave earlier, but he doesn't 'make' me since apparently he promised I could work 'till noon. He makes sure to point that out privately to me, I think because he wants me to know follows through.

Michael was awake enough by the time we got to the shop, he was able to help me with some stuff, but even he'd had enough and was constantly rubbing his eyes and saying, "Daddy, I is too sleepy today. We can go home now?"

It broke my fucking heart so much that on the way home I said to Cas, "why did you let us do that? You should have told us to stay home Cas."

All I get is more laughing.

"Not funny, babe."

"A little bit to me it is, but in answer to your question, it's the exact reason I said earlier, you needed to come to the conclusion yourself, or you would have just sat around the house hating me and thinking I was being bossy. Now, you can begin to see that I don't just make decisions to 'boss you around,' but for your own good."

"Shouldn't I be able to do that myself? I am an adult."

He shrugs. "You can. I've seen you. But there's nothing wrong with someone helping you with the things you struggle with."

"Well how about you? Don't you struggle with things?"

"Of course. I plan on coming to you whenever I struggle, Baby. Some things, you won't be able to help me with though, but I have a strong network I've set up to help me when you can't."

Oh. For some reason, I never thought about Cas as having friends, but of course he does. I have them too, not a ton, but some. Benny being one I often hang out with for a beer or something, but I can't imagine I'd be able to talk to him about something like what Cas and I are doing. I might have to make some new friends to add to my 'network,' as Cas calls it.

"If we are both two people who need help with things, then why does one need to be in charge of the whole house? I'm still having trouble wrapping my head around that Cas."

"I can understand that. The best way is to simply experience it, but for now I can tell you that it's the same reason only one person drives a car. Could you imagine me holding the wheel as we were driving to your home? What if I thought that taking Pacific was a much faster route than the one you're taking now and I kept trying to turn the car around, while you kept driving in the direction you wanted? It has to be one route, or the other. You can't compromise on everything. Compromise can be good, but it can also be disastrous and lead to nobody wins situations. People tend to think it's always the answer in relationships—better no one ends up happy than one happy and one not. I disagree. I think we should seek to make each other happy, rather than only ourselves. Another misconception about the DD style relationship, is that it's set up, so the head of house gets his or her way all of the time. That's not true, at least not for a good head of house. He, or she, wants to do what they feel is best for their house and listens carefully for how to make that happen. Using my example, I may not be happy about taking this route, but you are the driver, making the decisions and I respect that. I'm not going to interject my opinion. You're driving; you're in charge; it's that simple. My interjections could get us hurt."

"Yeah I'm driving. I'm going to have to see your driving records before I let you anywhere near Baby. Matter of fact, I'm going to have to see them before I drive anywhere with you period."

He rolls his eyes. "Did you get any of that, Winchester? Or were you spending the whole time worrying over whether I was going to attempt to pry 'Baby's' steering wheel from you? Which, I'm not by the way. I know you're the driver between us. Not that I can't drive, but I know you like it."

"Do you want me to take Pacific Street next time Cas? I avoid it 'cause there's too many lights."

"I'm not asking you to take Pacific Street, Dean," he sighs.

I laugh. "I'm just kidding, I get what you're saying Cas. Actually the car analogy is perfect for someone like me—don't know why you wouldn't have just gone with that sooner. I mean, I'm a _mechanic_ , I practically speak car."

"Thank-you for the feedback on my teaching abilities, Winchester," he says sarcastically. "I hope you're just as open to feedback, because I've got to say, if it weren't for this morning, I'd think you weren't taking this seriously."

Ouch. That stings a bit. "I'm sorry. You're right, Cas. I was being…well I was just being a brat, but you said you know how to deal with my kind, right?" I wink at him and give him the Dean Winchester eyes.

"Stop that," he says, but he's smiling.

"I'm making jokes because I'm uncomfortable, okay? But I'm really trying not to be, I really want this to work."

"Be uncomfortable, baby. There's nothing wrong with that. Discomfort means growing, we can grow together."

When we get home, Michael gets a huge smile on his face. "We is home Daddy. I likes to be at home and Irunman too."

"You don't like hanging out at Daddy's work anymore?" I say helping him with his shoes.

"I likes it Daddy, but is so sleepy. Doesn't feel good Daddy." Fuck. Is he getting sick again?

I feel his head. I'm not sure. "Cas, does he feel warm to you?"

Michael lets Cas feel his forehead. "I think his temperature feels fine, but there's only one way to know for sure. How about you go upstairs with him and get tucked into bed? I'll grab the thermometer."

"Upsie daisy, big guy," I say lifting Michael to me and he curls in like usual.

"We is going to sleep now, Daddy?"

"Yeah. You sure like going to sleep, how come you don't stay asleep?" I don't expect an answer to that, but I get one.

"I'm scared Daddy. Mama's gone."

He's said that before, I don't know what it means, or if it means anything, but he doesn't usually say it in the day, just at night.

"Daddy's mama's, gone?" he asks.

"Yeah, big guy. Daddy's mama's gone," I say laying him on the bed and pulling off his pants. I take mine off like I usually do for sleeping and also my shirt.

"I can take my shirt off too, Daddy?"

"You want to be just like Daddy?"

"Does Daddy."

I take his shirt off and Cas comes in, it's at that point I even notice I'm almost naked. Cas freezes and I try to act like it's no big deal. I've been naked in front of tons of men and woman—those men and women have just never been my boyfriend Cas. "Um, uh, sorry. Oh, you brought a bottle, great." I take the bottle from him and hop under the covers, fast.

Cas is quiet while he sits himself on the other side of the bed. "Michael, I want to take your temperature. Is that okay, or you want Daddy to do it?"

Michael looks at the thermometer. It's a kid's one like what Sammy has, he stocked me up when we went shopping. "I had that before, Daddy?" he says pointing.

Wow. He remembers. "That's right. Uncle Sammy did that to you before."

He nods and leans his ear toward Cas. "Thank-you my lad." Cas stick the thingy in his ear, twice. "His temperature is normal. Perhaps it's the lack of sleep making him feel yucky, I'm sure you feel yucky too. I'm going to leave you two, run by the Coffee Shop then my place to get some stuff for staying over. I'll be back to help you take him to the doctor's office."

He leans over Michael to kiss my lips. "Me too, Cas," Michael says forever wanting to be like me. Cas plants a kiss on Michael's forehead and Michael smiles up at me.

"Does Ironman need a kiss from Cas too?" I ask Michael. I'm always having to kiss that damn doll, Cas should have to, too.

"No. Daddy kisses Irunman," Michael says holding up Ironman for me to kiss. Cas laughs at me having to kiss the doll yet again.

"Serves you right Winchester."

"Yeah, yeah. Just, hurry up and go already, okay?"

"You want to get rid of me so soon?"

"I want you to hurry up, so you can come back."

~BDD~

Michael and I slept 'till Cas came back and once again, Cas was right, I do feel fresh enough for this appointment. I dressed a little on the nicer side, I'm still in jeans, but I wore a blue button up shirt, untucked and a tie even though Cas told me I was being ridiculous. I dressed Michael to match which of course he fucking loved.

I told him I want to look my best for the doctor, 'cause I don't want her judging me for my kid not sleeping, thinking I'm the terrible parent and the reason why he's not sleeping then calling children's aid and having Michael fucking taken away. I'm pretty sure they can do that shit, I saw it on TV once.

I filled out all the forms and let me tell you, it felt really cool to write out 'Michael Dean Winchester' on the forms. Now I'm just waiting nervously. Michael's actually on the floor playing with the toys, he was excited to get to see new ones. "Look it Daddy, toys," Michael says so I'll notice him. I am watching him, but I'm too fucking nervous to really be present for him.

"Yeah grease monkey, I see'em."

"I'm changing the oil. I does it right, Daddy?"

"Let me see." I pretend to look over the car he's 'working on.' "Yep, good job. You're hired."

Satisfied, he goes back to Michael's garage, Cas puts a hand on my thigh. "Things in real life aren't like Dr. Sexy M.D."

"It was a documentary, Cas."

He arches a brow at me.

"Okay, fine. It was Dr. Sexy M.D."

A little girl, also waiting with her parents, spies Michael fixing the cars and is shyly making her way over to him. Michael doesn't notice at all, completely immersed in his game. "Be right back, baby," Cas says. "Just going to use the restroom."

Cas leaves and I continue watching Michael and the little girl. I can tell she's enraptured by him—all the ladies want a hot mechanic. She sits herself next to my son, who isn't interested in her in the least. He even gives her the cold shoulder by turning away and inching closer to me. "Can I play too?" she says.

My quiet little son, who's always fairly well behaved turns to her and says, "no fucking way."

Shit. _Shit_. _Not in the fucking doctor's office Michael._

"Leave," he adds for good measure.

I know what I'm supposed to do, I'm supposed to scold him for his behavior, but I haven't yet. I mean, sure, I've sometimes told him how it's going to go, like the day he was pissed at me for making him stay in the shopping cart, but never scolded him for 'inappropriate' behavior. Not to mention, I've been touting this whole time about how I'm going to tell all the other parents to stuff it if they complain about my kid swearing in front of theirs, but god damn always fucking right Cas is right again and so is my brother. That little girl was polite to him, sweet even and he was kind of a shithead. I take a deep breath. "Michael," I say sternly. "That wasn't nice. You should say sorry."

I didn't yell, I barely raised my voice, but Michael's lip pouts and his face bunches in that way where you know your kid's about to haul off with an eardrum shattering sob. I'm up in a flash grabbing my kid as the little girl's mother comes over to see what all the commotion is about. I can tell right away Michael feels betrayed, like I took the little girl's side over his, and I'm sure being scolded by me really goes against his whole, 'please Daddy mission' he's constantly on.

The cries come as I expect them to and the things he says break my heart. "D-d-doesn't want to play with that kid, D-da-ah-deee. Is Michael's gar-ar-rage."

"I know bud. I know," I say bouncing him.

"Daddy's m-mad at me." His soother falls out and I have to catch it mid-air.

"Nope. You're confusing me with some other Daddy. I'm not mad." I bounce him as he curls into me and starts to calm some.

"What happened?" says, who I'm assuming is the mother of the little girl. She picks up her little girl, who's not crying, but she is looking at Michael concerned even though he basically told her to shove it.

"I'm so, sorry. My kid kinda swore at your kid." I cringe waiting to be told off.

She laughs. "Is that all? Little Shelby already knows a few colorful words. I'm working on teaching her not to say them, but sadly, I have a bit of a dirty mouth. I try not to swear in front of her, but the words slip out sometimes—they pick everything up like sponges."

Whoa. This chick is so cool. She's hot too. "I'm Dean. This is Michael," I say to smooth things over a little more. I'm sure I'll see her again, since I'm hoping Dr. Bradbury will take Michael as a permanent patient. We may bump into each other again and my kid may swear at hers again, nothing wrong with ensuring future times go over just as well.

"Alice," she says shaking my hand. "Hiya Michael."

Michael is so not interested in her. He curls further into my neck.

"He sure is handsome, like his daddy."

Is that the only pick-up line mother's can come up with? "Uh, yeah," I say, because without my usual return 'let's-meet-for-sex' line, I don't know what to say. "Thanks."

She's totally making eyes at me. I know because I often get those eyes, I could write a fucking book on people giving me those eyes, but I'm so taken. She doesn't have to know that though. By the time Cas comes back, we'll have talked long enough that we'll have a happy acquaintanceship going then I'll have to disappoint her. I let a very small amount of my Dean charm show through, just for good measure.

I'm still rocking Michael and chatting with hot Alice, when Cas comes back. "Oh, hey babe," I say inviting Cas into our conversation. "This is Alice."

"Oh, you have a boyfriend."

Fuck, way to be not cool Alice.

"Indeed he does," Cas says kissing my lips and staking his claim. In case that wasn't enough, he puts an arm around my waist and pulls me to him.

Alice's interest in me withers. "Well, nice chatting with you Dean." She doesn't even bother to get Cas's name.

"What happened?" Cas asks, like he's not pissed at me, but I can tell, he's pissed at me. I guess I've learned a thing or two about Cas over the years too. He's got just the slightest edge of coolness in his tone.

"Michael told a kid off," I say quietly. "I asked him to apologize, he freaked." We sit down; I keep Michael and Ironman with me. I hope to fuck we get in soon.

Cas fixes his hair. "Daddy gets mad at me," Michael says to Cas in a watery tone.

"I barely even raised my voice," I defend. I feel like a fucking heel.

"I'm sure you didn't, Winchester. I'm not sure you'll have to with Michael. He's such a little conundrum—tough as nails, yet extremely sensitive."

Thankfully, we get called into the doctor's office. I want to get the hell out of here. "I'll wait here," Cas says. I want to tell him to come with us, but maybe for the first time, it's better I go in alone. I'm not sure what the right thing is in this situation, but I'm pretty sure Cas would have come with us if he thought he should, so I follow his lead.

The receptionist brings us into your standard doctor's office, a table with that crappy white paper rolled over the with a chair beside, but all over the walls are fun 'kid' pictures. Yet again, we're waiting, so I check in with Michael. "You okay, bud. I'm sorry."

"Daddy gets mad at me."

I brush his hair back and kiss his forehead. "I love you, Michael." It's cheating, but it's all I can think to say.

"Love you Daddy," he says squeezing my neck and kissing my cheek. "Soother?"

"Oh yeah. Here." I pop it in his mouth and Dr. Bradbury enters at that moment. She's thin and has the reddest hair I've ever seen. She's pretty, but also just this side of dorky looking.

"Hi there, Michael," she says ignoring me. "Is this your daddy?"

He nods at her, but buries himself further into my neck. "Sorry, I always come on a little strong. You must be Dean Winchester?"

"Uh, yeah. Hello Dr. Bradbury," I say officially.

"Oh please, call me Charlie. The kids usually end up calling me Dr. Charlie anyway, especially after I bribe them with candy."

Sounds like my kind of doctor, so far anyway. Let's see how she reacts when I tell her everything. "So what can I do for you today, Dean?"

"I'm kinda new to being Michael's father, he uh, was left in my care after his mother died," I chance saying in front of Michael. He doesn't respond, but I can almost hear him thinking 'Daddy's mama, gone too?' "I've had him checked out, but if you want to do that too for your records that would be fine. I'm mostly concerned about his sleep."

"What about his sleep?"

"He's not getting any. He goes to sleep fine, but wakes up every night crying for his, mom. There doesn't seem to be any sort of pattern, but it's only at night and it's multiple times."

"Aw. Poor thing, sometimes there is no pattern, but I have had other patients in similar situations. How long?"

"For as long as I've had him, which is a week and a half, but I suspect it's gone on longer than that."

"Hmmm, that's starting to sound like child insomnia."

"Kids can get that?"

"Oh yeah, for all kinds of reasons and Michael's certainly got reasons. A patient of mine, who's eight was experiencing stress at school, that's all it took for her."

"How long it take for her to, not have insomnia?"

She crosses her arms over her chest. "Insomnia's incurable Dean."

"What?"

She starts laughing. "No, of course it's curable, I'm kidding."

Is it legal for doctors to kid around like that? "Don't do that, Charlie."

"There we go. You're acting all straight laced, you don't have to do that around me. You watched that episode of Dr. Sexy M.D where Dr. Sexy wrongly reports Nina the nurse for child abuse, didn't you?"

"All she did was ask Dr. Sexy to take a look at him."

"That darn episode, ruined a lot of business for me. Anyway, I'm not going to report you for anything Dean. But I can help you with his insomnia. I've got a lady, she's a good psychologist, deals with this kind of thing all the time. Tell me a bit about his bedtime routine."

"He, uh, doesn't really have one. He's so damn tired all the time, he just goes to bed willingly. I rock him with some milk, he goes right to sleep, then wakes up multiple times in the night. Crying for…Mama."

Michael's slowly coming around by this point and has begun lifting his head to peer up at Charlie. Charlie peeks at him and he hides again, but he has to ask me. "Daddy's mama's gone?"

"Yeah, bud, Daddy's mama's gone too," I assure him.

"Jesus Dean, that breaks my cold heart, no wonder you look like you could use some sleep too. But I don't think Michael needs looking over, it's his pal I'm worried about. Ironman's looking a little worse for wear. Should we look him over kiddo?"

"Dah, Dah-dee, doesn't want her to look at Irunman."

"Me? Oh heck no. I don't know the first thing about Ironmen, I was hoping you would do it for me."

Michael pulls back to look at me. "C'mon bud. Let's check out Ironman. I'll help you."

"Daddy helps me?"

"Yep."

"Okay."

I stand setting Michael on my hip. "Lay him on the table and I'll show you and Daddy what to do, okay, Michael?"

He nods.

We lay Ironman on the table. "First you gotta listen to his heart with this thing. Have you used one of this before?" she asks showing him the stethoscope.

He shakes his head.

"It's easy. Lift your shirt for me bud and I'll show you."

Charlie is a fucking genius. I marvel at how she's able to, let's face it, trick my son into checking him over under the guise that he's the one looking over Ironman. My doctor was good and we got the job done, but there were some tears and complaints. I can see the difference between a regular GP and a paediatrician.

Michael's engaged the whole time and by the end, he's even using her name. "Is not…Irunman doesn't has a cold, Charlie."

"Are you sure? He seems kinda grumpy like other men with colds I've seen, but I'm not the Ironman doctor, you are." He lets her tousle his hair. "He's okay Dean, but with the countless nights of poor sleep, his immune system will weaken. Feed him some bone broth and I'm not supposed to tell you this, but give him some oil of oregano just once or twice for good measure to prevent a cold. Do you have some kid's Tylenol on hand?"

"Yeah, he had a cold when I got him."

"Likely you're right, he's probably been struggling since his mama went away."

"Mama's gone?" he says to his new friend Charlie.

"Mama's gone," she agrees. "But you've got the best Daddy in the universe, kiddo."

That makes me sit up a little straighter. Less than two weeks ago, I strived to get compliments on my skills in the sack, now, I'd rather be told I'm a good Dad. Huh, and from a doctor no less.

"Daddy loves me," he tells her. But before we can 'aw' and cry, he adds, "Daddy gets mad."

I roll my eyes this time. "He told a kid in your waiting room off, I tried and failed to get him to apologize."

Charlie laughs. "Still isn't the episode of Dr. Sexy M.D you're thinking of. You don't have to explain yourself to me, Dean. I'd say it's good that he seems to recognize both that you love him, but you're going to be cross with him sometimes. Kids his age tend to be black and white, most of the time. He's just trying to sort that out, by talking about it with his limited vocabulary."

Oh, well, that's actually incredibly helpful. Fuck. I love Charlie. "So, will you be Michael's doctor?" I ask already convinced she's the best without seeing any others.

"You're supposed to bring diamonds when you're proposing, Dean."

"How about a discount on auto repairs? Michael here can fix anything."

"I'm a grease monkey, Charlie. Like Daddy."

"I'll bet you are." He's completely won her over and how could he not? He's definitely inherited the Winchester charm. "Of course I'm his doctor. I expect you back here in a couple weeks. If he's still not sleeping, I'll give him something, but I like to wait before I hand that crap out to kids. For now, I'll get my receptionist to set you up with the number for the psychologist we refer to."

"Okay. And thanks a lot Charlie."

"Anytime Dean and I know you're not here to see me, but for what it's worth, you look like you need some rest too. Many single parents burn out trying to do everything themselves."

"I'm working on it Charlie. I swear, I'm working on it."

~BDD~

"Doesn't want this car seat, Daddy."

"I know, but we have to drive home, you want me to strap you to the roof of the Impala?"

"No."

I continue to put in him in his car seat despite his protests. "Fuck this car seat, Daddy."

"Shit, fuck. I mean…" Since Michael told that kid off, I may have come to the realization that perhaps I should tone down the swearing for Michael's sake. It wasn't funny when he told that little girl off, but it is kind of funny when he swears at me.

"Problem Winchester?" Cas says. Right. He thinks I'm going to ask him for 'help' on this one.

"Nope. Everything's fine."

"Okay, let me know if there is."

I slide into the driver's side and we head over to my brother's. "Dean, I don't do well with waiting to discuss things. I want to talk about that woman in the doctor's office."

"What about her?"

"You were flirting with her."

"I…yeah I was. I just wanted to make friendly."

"I don't think so, Dean. I'm not comfortable with that."

"Okay, I'm sorry, Cas. I won't do it again."

"No you won't."

Wait a sec, does he mean…? "Is that like, a rule, Cas?"

"Yes. I didn't think I was going to have to make it a rule, but apparently I do. Believe me when I say it will make both our lives together infinitely better."

"Well, but, don't I get some weaning time? I've been flirting a long time. I might not realize I'm doing it."

"I think that one's pretty straight forward. Do it all you want, but you can spend time over my knee for each occasion."

"I just, I wasn't cheating, Cas."

"I warned you I get jealous. What did you think I meant?"

"She didn't touch me, I was very careful of that."

"No Dean."

"Argh… _Cas_."

"Next time you do it, not only am I going to spank you," he says quietly. "I'm going to do it back. Perhaps you need to see what it feels like."

"I would like to see that, Cas flirting." I think it would be funny to see Cas harness his mojo.

"I doubt you really would, you were jealous of Anna."

"But you're right, that was irrational, flirting doesn't mean anything Cas."

"We shall see. You are clear on what I expect? Do you need me to spell it out for you again Winchester?"

"I understand, Cas."

"I prefer, 'yes, Castiel' when we are discussing rules."

"Yes, sir."

"Dean…"

"What's wrong with 'yes, sir?' It's respectful."

"Not when you're being insolent."

"I don't mind saying 'yes Castiel,' if that's what you want darlin', but I think my brain understands the 'yes sir' thing better. I said it to my dad often, I still say it to Bobby. I'd say it if I were in the army—I think I rationalize that better going with what you've explained to me so far about domestic discipline. I assure you, it's not some kind of 'Daddy issue' thing. I mean, I have 'Daddy issues,' but not 'those' kind. I know my dad loved us."

Cas is smiling. "I have no problems with 'yes sir,' Dean. My father was in the army, it's comfortable for me too and also what I prefer. I just never thought you'd…well, you're full of surprises, Baby. You're perfect."

"Does that mean you forgive me for flirting with Alice?"

His look darkens a bit. "You're forgiven, but I'm serious Dean. No more flirting. You're taken."

"Yes, sir." I wink at him.

"Doesn't want to play with that kid," my son explains to Ironman. "I said, no fucking way then Daddy's mad."

Cas looks to me, pompous smirk in place.

"Just say it—you told me so, Cas."

"I did tell you so."

"And Sam too, fuck, he's going to have a hay day."

"I would think you'd be trying to cool in on the swearing in light of this event."

"Fuck, did I just…aw shit, fuck, no…son of a bitch."

Cas laughs. "Sure you don't want my help Winchester?"

"I'm good Cas," I say, but fuck I just might. Not to mention, I am curious…curious as to what it would feel like to have Cas spank me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will get to all comments between tonight and tomorrow night. 
> 
> This comes to you while I eat an apple pie I just baked. It's all Cas's fault ;-)
> 
> Next up, dinner at Sabriel's. 
> 
> Love you all!  
> Mock xoxo


	15. Dinner at Sabriel's

When I show up to the door with Cas, the reaction is better than I expect. "Heya, Sammy," I say moving past him, Michael following close with Ironman, I set the diaper bag down in the middle of the entryway.

"C-C-Castiel?" Sam says.

"I take it Dean did not notify you that I would be attending," Cas says but gives his _you're in so much trouble, Winchester_ look to me. It's only enough to make me cringe a little.

"Dean, explain," they both say at the same time.

"Cas and I are together now, didn't I mention?" I say to Sam. "Sorry, Cas, but I had to see that look on Sammy's face. It's a brother thing."

Neither of them look impressed with me, but Sam softens first, used to my antics, shaking his head. "So, like, together _together_?" 

"Is there another kind of together?"

"You just…you…never mind. Welcome to the family, Cas." My brother quickly adopts the nickname I gave him and knows that if I'm _with_ someone, that's no small thing. "And I'm happy to have you here for dinner, we've got lots. I'm more surprised Dean came with _you_ specifically, considering your long-standing antagonism. Guess I owe Gabriel a night of—"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold it right there. No one needs to know what you owe your husband. Especially me."

"I wasn't going to say anything non-PG in front of Michael, dude. I'm not you. Hey bud, I missed you," he crouches down to say to Michael. Because he's a little closer to Cas, Michael leans into his leg and reaches an arm up, Cas responds picking him up, Michael curls into Cas, but still regards Sammy shyly. I think he likes Sam, he's just a little timid, with everyone except Cas.

"Holy, crap," he stares at Cas, eyes bulging out of his head. "Just how long have you two been shacking up and playing house?"

I'm sorry for this one, really I am, but I should get to use my monkdom for something, shouldn't I? "We've been together, since Sunday, Sammy. We don't engage in uncouth sexual activities, we're above that, I'm in an adult relationship now."

Cas rolls his eyes at me, but he lets me have fun with this. "Just call us the Winchester Bunch," I add and lean over to kiss Cas's cheek.

"Okay, enough Winchester. Not only does the 'Winchester Bunch' not really work, since I don't have kids to add to the equation, I think your poor brother's going to have a heart attack. I am sorry to intrude, Sam. Dean and I began seeing each other this past weekend and I've been helping him out, so he doesn't die of exhaustion."

Whatever. He so loved me calling us the Winchester Bunch.

"He _let_ you do that?" Sam asks, astonished.

"Not exactly, I didn't leave him much choice."

"You have got to teach me how you did that." Sam catches me admiring Cas, just before I look away. "Oh god Dean you're…" He finishes that sentence in his head, but the product of his thoughts shines through his eyes. "Well come in. Come in. Welcome, Cas," he says again. "Really welcome. You're welcome here anytime, no invite necessary. Gabe and I were just getting the kids settled. Take off your shoes and coats and come into the kitchen."

"I almost think you want a spanking," Cas whispers in my ear once Sam's gone.

I pause in taking Michael's shoes off to think about that. Want is a strong word. Am I curious? Yes. But I also remember that curiosity killed the fucking cat.

"It's what Sam and I do," I shrug.

"But do you think it was fair to involve me in that? Without at least asking if I was all right with it?"

My movements slow down as I think about that too, 'cause I hadn't thought much about anything other than how fun it would be to get one over on Sam. I'm finding it hard to regret. "Probably not Cas, but did you see the look on Sam's face? Worth it."

His eyes narrow, displeased. "Don't do it again, not with me anyway. It's of no consequence to me what antics you and your brother get up to, but I don't want to be involved."

I almost retort with something, because it's instinctive, we've been at each other's throats for years. But I catch myself, already able to translate what he's saying. "Yes, sir," I decide on, so he knows I know and that I'm taking this seriously.

He smiles fondly. "Don't think that's going to get you out of trouble."

"It's gotta count for something."

"For something."

I let Michael follow between Cas and I into the kitchen. "Uncle Dean!" One of the twins says, I'm pretty sure it's Matthew, since the other one's 'reading' a book.

"Books away at the dinner table," Gabe says spying his son from his periphery, busy at the stove and facing it, which means he hasn't seen Cas yet. "Hey Dean-o."

"Hey Gabe, hey Matthew," I say. "Hi Logan."

"Hi Uncle Dean," Logan says. "Who's that?" He points to Cas.

"My name is Cas," Cas says using _my_ nick for him.

Gabe spins around. "Cas? Oh, Castiel."

"C'mon Cas, that look, _that_ look right there is worth it. Admit it."

Cas ignores me. "Hello Gabriel."

"Well Sam looks like you owe me—"

"First, we still don't need to know what kind of kinky bets you two make," I cut in. "Second, how do you know we're not just friends?"

"The bet was for a foot rubs and I'm just plain assuming. Am I wrong?"

I wish I could tell him he was, so he'd wipe that smug look off his face. "No."

"I rest my case. Hey Michael," Gabe says.

"Say hi to your uncle Gabe," I prompt him. I don't want him to be shy around the family forever. He sure wasn't shy when he told that kid off.

"Hi Uncle Gabe," he says and everyone gives him one of those 'aw' cutesy looks while he grabs onto my leg. I give him a break and lift him onto my hip. "Time to eat big guy. Hope they made enough food for you."

"We made lots," Sam says.

"I doubt you made enough for Michael, this kid eats me under the table." I'm really hoping Michael's going to be a giant like Sammy, all that food's gotta go somewhere.

We all sit down to eat and I get Michael set up with his fork and pull out his soother for him. He puts Ironman beside him.

"I thought you weren't going to be a helicopter parent?" Sam taunts.

"I'm not."

"It's okay if you are, I can be sometimes too. I think it's nice."

"Yeah? Well no one asked you."

"Jeez, touchy," Sam says taking a bite.

"He's incredibly irritable due to the lack of sleep," Cas interjects.

I can't argue with that, because it's true. "Yeah, sorry Sam. I'm so freaking tired."

Both Sam and Gabe's forks clatter to their plates and I get twin shocked stares from them. "What?" I say.

"How did you do that Cas?" Sam asks.

"Do what?" I answer for him.

"You let him say that about you, agreed with him and apologized to Sam. You never do that," Gabe outlines. I think they've spent too much time around their twins with the way they finish each other's thoughts and move at the same time, like I've seen Matt and Logan do, or maybe just too much time around each other.

"Yeah I do. All the time, right Cas?"

"I think your family knows you too well for me to lie to them," Cas teases.

"I say sorry to you all the time."

"To me."

Sam laughs. "Well I still want to know that trick. How was Michael's doctor's appointment?"

"It was good. Charlie's awesome and she gave me a name for a good psychologist and they even got me set up with an appointment for a week Monday—she's kinda hard to get into, but Charlie helped pull some strings for me," I gloat.

"How do you know this psychologist is good? I doubt you've had time to take them through the extensive interview process you outlined for me when we were talking about finding Michael a Pediatrician," Sam says.

"Cas recognized the name, he's a doctor of psychology," I say proudly.

"Good, can you psychoanalyze my brother-in-law?" Gabe says.

"Been there done that," Cas says joining in on the teasing.

"Hey! I thought you were on my side?" I pout.

"I am Baby," Cas says rubbing my arm and taking my hand and I melt at his use of 'baby.' "Which is why I 'psychoanalyzed' you."

"Whoa, and he didn’t even punch him out for that," Gabe comments. "I thought you two were just dating, I didn't realize you were in love, Dean."

Now I'm fucking blushing. "Well I do love, Cas and I'm not afraid to say it." Fuck them both. Douchebags.

"I loves Cas too," Michael says with a scowl on his face, probably reading the situation like everyone's picking on me and once again, wanting to be like Daddy and protect Daddy. I don't really feel picked on though, they're just teasing me like I would them, it's what we do. It's all worth it to see more shocked looks. Sam breaks first to laugh at how cute Michael is saying that.

"I think we all 'loves' Cas. I can see you've already been a good influence on my big brother. Whatever you're doing, you have my permission to keep doing it."

Tease the Dean ends, as I successfully turn it back into tease the Sam and Gabe and even the Cas a little bit. I'm careful about teasing Cas. I think he's one hair away from spanking me and I don't think Cas is kidding when he says he spanks to deter. I'm sure he'd like to deter me from a few things after today, but he's keeping his promise to go slow. I continue to impress them with how I've allowed Cas to help me at work. Cas pipes up, ruining it for me, informing them he practically had to threaten me, which is also an exaggeration. Gabe and Sam know well enough to know the truth lies somewhere in between and laugh at us.

"What are you doing, Winchester?" Cas says while Sam and Gabe help the twins finish their meals. I've done as I usually do and have cut a line down the middle of my plate, so I make sure to leave some for Michael. I'm pretty hungry, so I'll eat it all if I don't make a point of saving some for him; I hope there's dessert. I made note if there was any food left on the stovetop and there's not. Sam said there was lots and there was, but 'lots' is a relative term. They gave Michael a decent size and me an even larger size. It's still not going to be enough.

"Saving some for Michael."

"You've got to stop doing that, Winchester. You need to eat enough too," he adds before I have the chance to answer him.

"I've eaten plenty, I'm good Cas." That's Dean for leave it alone. There's no way I'm not giving Michael some of mine if he asks for it. Cas does leave it, but I can tell he's thinking again, which is not a good sign for me.

And the question does come. "Daddy, I has some of that?" Michael asks. Everyone is done eating by this point and I'd already received questioning look each from Sam and Gabe over my food I was leaving untouched, to which I glared at them over. Sam's seen me do it before, his look of shock is likely over the fact I'm _still_ doing it after he's 'talked sense into me,'

"Of course bud, Daddy saved it just for you." I pull him into my lap, so he can start working on my plate.

The look on Sam's face is concerned, but it's definitely got some pride mixed with sadness, his eyes are glistening and he turns away with the excuse of collecting the dinner dishes. Thank god Gabe tries to be funny man. "Who needs a garburator? We've got Michael." Even Michael thinks he's funny and smiles.

When Michael's finally finished, I make him go to the playroom, with the other kids who have long gone there. He does so, reluctantly as usual. Not long after he's gone, Sam slides a sandwich in front of me. "Eat that Dean."

I quickly take a bite. "No arguments there," I say with my mouth full.

"We could have made Michael some more food…I can't believe you're still doing this Dean, though I should have guessed, you're still losing weight."

Too much talking to me while I'm busy eating. I hold my finger up and make them wait, since I'm not fast enough for them, Cas speaks on my behalf.

"I have seen him save food for Michael as well," Cas rats me out. "Perhaps, something about money for Neurosurgery school?"

"I'm sure you have enough money to buy a little extra food Dean," Sam reiterates his lecture.

"I will in two weeks, Bobby gave me a raise. Fucking tricked me into it, but I accepted."

"Good. Jesus Dean. You're not Dad."

"What's that? I can't hear you over the sound of me eating this awesome sandwich." I seriously do not want to get into shit about Dad right now.

"Never mind, just tell us more about his doctor's appointment."

I fill them in on what Charlie said and inform them Cas is going to spend the night.

"The night huh?" Gabe says waggling his eyebrows.

"Don't get any funny ideas, Gabriel," I try to say in a stick-in-my-ass-Cas voice. "We don't do that."

"No, but I bet you'd like to," Sam says.

"Ew. Sammy, no sex references to big brother."

"But for the look on your face…"

All three of them laugh at me.

Sam gets up. "Where you going, Sammy?"

"To check on the kids, they're a bit too quiet for my liking."

Perfect. There's something I'd planned on talking to him about. "Yeah, uh, I'd better come with you, see if Michael needs his diaper changed. You okay here, Cas?"

"I do believe I am capable of making conversation with Gabriel."

I laugh. "I think you should psychoanalyze him too," I say kissing him and fuck, I wish we didn't have an audience; I want to kiss him more.

"Contrary to popular belief that is not a psychologist's past time, Winchester."

"Sure it's not."

I grab up Michael's diaper bag and follow Sammy into the next room. Predictably, Michael's sitting in what I now think of as his chair, clutched to Ironman, sucking his soother staring at the kids who are trying to get him interested. He doesn't want to play with them. Will he ever? It's starting to fucking worry me. A lot. His eyes light up when he sees me and he pops his soother out. "I'm done playing now, Daddy?" he asks hopefully.

"Yeah, c'mon bud." He practically sprints to me. I lift him to my hip where he curls in.

"What are you guys playing?" Sam asks his pair.

"Interest the Michael. We keep tryin' to see if he's interested in anything."

"Is he?" I want to know too.

They both shrug in unison. "Just Ironman," one of them says.

"Did he uh, did he happen to say anything to Ironman?"

"Yeah, he talks to him."

"What does he say?"

"Something about you being mad, but that it was okay because you 'keeps' him."

I would have freaked out about that pre-today, but I remember what Charlie said about him having to talk through things he's trying to understand. I think over all that's a good one. "If he's bad, are you going to get rid of him, Uncle Dean?"

"Never. I love my Michael," I say to Michael stealing another smile.

Sam watches me like he's never seen me before then turns to his boys. "You two are on bath time notice."

"We don't want a bath Papa," one of them answers on behalf of both of them.

"You never do, if it were left up to the two of you, you'd get all smelly." They laugh at that. "I'll bet Uncle Dean would let Michael have a bath with you again."

I nod as Michael hides himself further into me. "Remember you had fun getting them with the fish squirters?" I tell him, hoping to Christ he'll respond. I'm fucking worried about him not wanting to interact with other kids. It makes me think things.

"Squirt them with the fish?" he says.

"Yep."

"Yeah, you can get us Michael," one of them says excited he's finally interested in something to do with them. They really are good boys. "Then maybe I can read him a story, Papa?" Okay, that's gotta be Logan. I feel like a bit of an ass, since that's the only way I can tell them apart. If Sam and Gabe didn't fucking dress them the same, maybe I'd have a hope.

"Daddy reads me, stories," Michael lets him know in no uncertain terms. At least he didn't tell him to fuck off.

"You know who's really good at stories? Even makes 'em up?" I say.

"Who Uncle, Dean?"

"Cas. I'll bet he'd tell a story to all three of you rug rats."

"Daddy loves me," Michael says glowing. He remembers Cas gave him that book, I'm not sure if he gets that he wrote it.

"Speaking of books, Sam, I need your help with something." I crouch to reach into the diaper bag and pull out the book Cas gave me. "Can you use your speed reading powers and read this for me? Make me some cliff notes?"

He takes the book and reads the title out loud under his breath and I think I get an even better reaction than him meeting Cas as my boyfriend. "Cas wrote this?"

"Cas wants me to do that."

Sam laughs. "Yeah, right. As if you would do this."

"Do you even know what it is?"

"Sure do. A guy in my office has it going with his husband. Long story, but he confided in me one day and I've been strangely fascinated ever since."

"What the freaking hell, Sammy? And you never told me?"

"Why would I? Wait, you did agree to this. Wow, you really love this guy."

"Wipe that goofy smile off your face, of course I love him. Besides, what's not to like about getting to boss Cas around all the time?"

"Right Dean. As if Cas would let you boss him around."

"I could be the…the head of house. Looked after you didn't I? Need I remind you who put you through law school?"

"I don't think you are the head of house, but that's not a judgment, this could be really good for you. From what my co-worker says, he gets a lot of benefit from having a head of house."

"Wait, so your lawyer friend isn't the head of house?"

"No. His partner is who runs a beauty parlor sort of deal."

"Oh." Cas did explain to me that just because you had a commanding presence, it didn't mean you couldn't have a head of house. But wow a lawyer with one? I know how commanding you've got to be for lawyering.

"I know how much you don't like to talk about 'feelings,' so I won't get into stuff with you now, but suffice to say I think the way you grew up was too fast…it might be nice for you to have someone _you_ can depend on. I know how much it balanced you when Dad was around. I've already figured out why you won't depend on me for certain things, I'm like your kid in some ways. I'm just freaking surprised you'd agree to something like that."

He's not the only one in fucking shock. I thought in the least I'd have to stop him from running out and accusing Cas of abuse, or something, but he's…accepting. "I expected you to think a little more Ike Turner."

"Right. I think Cas's croissant selling days would be over if he went that route, because he'd have no hands left for handing them to customers. Not to mention if I did find out he'd Chris Browned you, I'd wrap his business up in so much red tape, no lawyer alive will be able to unravel it. All that aside, the only thing I care about is you happy Dean and when you look at Cas I know that you are. Michael makes you happy too, but Cas somehow completes that. I'm so proud of you for trying this, bro."

Jesus fuck. Now Sammy's crying and embracing me. Our chick moment is complete. "Okay, okay. Enough Jerry Maguire meets Growing Pains. Are you gonna help me out or what?"

"Of course I'll help you Dean, but don't you think you should read this yourself?"

"I would…I actually want to for once, but Sammy, I don't have time. In the time I do have, I need to sleep. I figure you could, you know? Tell me the highlights."

"You agreed to this without reading the book?"

"Cas and I had a ridiculously long conversation about it, you know I don't like to think about things for too long. I said I'd try and if it didn't work out we'd just part ways."

"As if that's going to happen Dean. You love him."

"You can reserve your grandparent level concern, Sammy, Cas says he thinks it will work and he's always right. He really always is, but if you tell him I said that, I'm punching you square in the gut."

"I guess it's better to have loved and lost…"

"You saying I can't do this?"

He sighs. "No…it's just…" he runs a frustrated hand through his hair, clearly no words in the human language can describe what he's feeling about this because he knows them all and none are coming to mind. "I'm going to help you Dean. Whatever way I can. I want this to work for you."

"Good, thanks Sammy."

"Oh and Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Just remember, you asked."

I don't like the way he says that. I rake eyes over him suspiciously. "I'm just gonna go change my son. T minus twenty 'till bath time?"

"Sounds good."

"Oh and uh, Sammy?"

"Yeah?"

"Maybe don't tell Cas about this."

"Dean," he warns. "Do you really think you should be going behind his back about something like this and so soon?"

"I think it has something to do with 'brats.'"

"What?"

"Me doing stuff like this. Cas said something about it. Maybe start with that chapter."

"This is a bad idea Dean."

"Naw, we're fine. Trust me. I know how to handle Cas."

"Look, I'm not an expert on this," he says holding up the book. "But didn't he ask you to read it?"

"Asked. It's not like a rule, or anything. Are you going to help me, or not? 'Cause if not, that's pretty shitty because..."

"I know, I know, law school; you already said. I never said I wasn't going to help you Dean, you know I'd go to hell and back for you…I just don't want to get you into trouble."

"Believe me, I can do that all on my own."

Of course it's at that moment Cas walks in. "Hey Baby, what's taking so long?" he says.

"Cas," I say trying to hide my surprise. "Where's Gabriel?"

"He had to take a work call. Oh, my book."

Shit. How's Cas going to react to me showing Sam his book? "Yeah, I was just showing it to Sammy here. He's read everything, I wanted to know if he'd read it." I grab it back and stuff it in the diaper bag. I'll hide it somewhere later and text Sam where I put it. "He hasn't."

"That's okay Dean. I'm not embarrassed of my life's work. You can show him. If you like Sam, I'll bring you a signed copy next time."

"That would be great," Sam says. "I was telling Dean a guy at my work does this with his partner." Yeah, I'm still leaving him this copy, I can't wait for however long it will take for Cas to get one to him.

"Sounds like someone you should meet Dean. It would be beneficial to talk with someone other than me about this."

I stare at Cas, dumbfounded. He knows I'm not just showing Sam the book, that I'm discussing things with him. I was all secretive about it, but looks like I didn't have to be. He's really comfortable with everything. "Sure thing, Cas." I don't realize how long I've been staring at Cas until my brother clears his throat, misinterpreting.

"You two can stand here and make eyes at each other all you want, but I'm not watching. See you in the bath in T minus…fifteen now?"

"See you there." Sam leaves, Cas and I are alone with all the kids.

"See you in the bath? Winchester, is there something between you and your brother I should know about?"

"Ew, Cas. No. We're going to give the kids a bath together."

"Cas, I don't has to play with the kids no more," Michael says, just so Cas knows.

"No? Says who?"

"Daddy says."

"Well if Daddy says, it must be true. You want me to change your diaper?" Cas offers, probably wanting to give me yet another break.

"No, Cas. Daddy does it, but Cas, you is going to come with us," Michael dictates.

Or better phrased, that was Cas getting told by a three-year-old: Real head of Winchester house. Cas doesn't seem to mind. "If you say, so my lad."

~BDD~

We give Michael a bottle for the drive home and I'm excited as fuck to have a sleepover with Cas. I have no idea how it's going to go. Where will he sleep? Will he let me stay up a little while? Does he sleep naked?

I'm also nervous. He has no idea how fucking hard it is at night with Michael. Sure I do it, I'm proud to, because I'm his dad, but it's hard even for me. Cas can leave if he wants. Not that I think he'll do that, but I do think it's enough to taint anyone's view on a relationship with me. He might finally decide we're rushing into things too fast.

Again Dad springs to mind. Dad did find the time for a few women, as we got older (a man needs sex), of course he never had the time to keep any of them. Especially after they found out about us. Occasionally, they stayed longer than a few dates, but they always left after spending a night. There was always something. Sammy wetting the bed (he went through a phase at eight, I still fucking tease him about that), the time I got sick and went to get Dad in the middle of the night (only 'cause Sammy begged me too, we shared a room at the time and I kept moaning) then ended up puking all over my father's bedmate. She was gone before breakfast.

Even the coolest chick, Sandy, left after experiencing the sheer exhaustion, that having two boys is, especially when one of them is purposefully being a dick. She looked after us twice while Dad was at work. I was twelve and pissed, because I'd been looking after Sammy since I was four, I didn't see why we suddenly needed a babysitter. I deemed that twelve was a more appropriate for being in charge than four was, but Dad said he'd only done that because he had no other choice, he felt better having someone there with us while he was at work. I was a shithead to Sandy. No more than any other twelve-year-old, resentful over having a babysitter, but it was enough to send her fleeing. Dad kicked my ass for that, but he also never enlisted anyone, to look after Sammy again, but me, and sometimes Uncle Bobby. The frailty of relationships with kids stuck with me.

I'm on the plus side of things with Cas. He's already made it clear it was seeing me with Michael that made him think things could work between us. But how far does that go? What's the statute of limitations on relationships, when your partner comes packaged with a kid?

Michael's out by the time we get home, his head lolling to his chest, the bottle's remains leaking onto the expensive looking car seat, where it rests on Michael's lap, one tiny hand sparsely gripping it.

When I lift him out, I'm hit with a waft of the fresh baby shampoo we used on him at Sam's house. He only stirs enough to snuggle into me; the now familiar gesture fills me with warmth and utter gratitude that this little critter is mine. Fuck. I never thought I'd get so lucky and fuck you Cas if you don't accept us after tonight. _I love you Michael_. We don't need anyone if that’s the way it's going to be.

Barely aware I'm doing it, I storm toward the house ready to fucking punch Cas where it counts, except, he hasn't done anything yet. It doesn't stop the irrational building rage at what could happen, because it isn't fucking fair. I want this, I want Michael and I want Cas too. Of the two, there's no contest, I'd tear Hades apart before I'd separate from my son. It's just that…how fucking nice would it be if I could have both? I've already been lucky once in love and that's with Michael, I doubt I'm getting a second gift, so I prepare myself for the impending blow and put up my walls in effort to distance myself from Cas.

Problem is, he's already on the other side of those walls, I need to push his book-writing ass, back over with something sharp.

"Here, I'll take Michael up if you want to—" he starts, but I cut him off.

"I'll be putting him to bed, he's _my problem_ , not yours." I'm mean and terrible when I say that; I know it. Cas doesn't fucking deserve it; he should just leave now.

Cas is calm while he thinks and it's absolutely terrifying. I wish he'd do something other than use whatever mind melding powers he's developed in shrink school, it's like he can see through to my soul. "Go put Michael to bed Dean. Change into pajamas, I'm going to do the same then we rendezvous at that couch in ten minutes. Go."

It's no wonder why I obey him, his voice so smooth and commanding. It's Dad, but it's not Dad. I'm already clear that I'm not trying to 'replace Dad' with someone like Cas, or looking for a 'Daddy,' it's just the familiarity of that safety net, wrapping around me, directing me when my emotions take over and scatter me into irrationality, feels good. My whole body sags with relief with only remnants of my anger to spare, as I realize I'm just trying to protect myself from getting stabbed in the fucking heart.

"Wait," he says before I head up the stairs. He walks over to us and presses a kiss to Michael's head. Right. None of Dad's girlfriends ever pressed kisses to our heads.

Michael's already in pajamas and we didn't put shoes on him, so all I have to do is slide him under the duvet to our bed. I usually put Michael on one side, with me on the other, but…will Cas sleep in here tonight? I don't know. I don't know what's going to happen when I go downstairs, but I do know what I want.

I stare at Michael's dark hair like Sammy's, right where Cas kissed him, that kiss blooming inside and giving me the hope I need, while I make my decision.

I make sure Ironman is tucked safely beside Michael, to watch over him while I'm not and slip a fresh soother past his lips, which he reflexively begins sucking a couple of times before he takes a shuddery breath and relaxes again. After making sure to kiss the same spot Cas did and tell Michael I love him, out loud this time, I put something on to wear to bed and leave the room with Michael in the middle of our bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love that I am among friends here, you'll all a bunch of spank-os! Hooray! Know how I know? The comment trend of last chapter was: "Dean is getting spanked soon, right Mock?" My answer: "Of course he is, it's Dean." 
> 
> You won't have to wait too much longer.
> 
> Mock  
> xo


	16. When the Thunder Rolls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mock Updates: 
> 
> Readers: "Where the hell have you been Mock? You'd better have a good excuse."
> 
> Mock (blushes sheepishly): "Uh, I kinda pulled a Sam (from WW) and have been canning. I went fucking hog wild and with no Cas to stop me, well, theres SO much Jam. Not to mention, I took up a new volunteer position on a Board as VP (you'd think I have lots of free time, or something--I don't), plus work is busy for ol' Mock in September." 
> 
> Readers: "Yeah, yeah. We don't care about your RL, Mock. Tell us a fucking story." 
> 
> Mock: "I will and I've got good news! The new chapter for WW is almost complete! So you'll get that SOON. We've got this chapter up ahead AND I'm writing a fun little Timestamp for The Winchesters! Hooray! AND there's more. I've been wanting to write something special for LW for a while, because she makes me hilarious picture parodies of all my chapters. She's amazing! She wanted to see a story with a bottom!typeCas and Top!typeDean set in the SPN world, complete with Cas spankings and my muse really liked that too. This one is almost finished and will be a complete 4-5 chapter story.
> 
> "So sit back and enjoy, many updates on the horizon! Happy Sunday. And much love to everyone. I'm so grateful to have y'all here experiencing these stories with me."

I'm fucking nervous when I reach the bottom of the stairs. What's Cas gonna do? Am I about to get my first spanking? Fuck. Am I going to let him spank me? I, well, yes, yes, I think I am. The thought gives me a strange embarrassed thrill. I both want him and don't want him to spank me. Picturing it fills me with a shifty feeling where I want to tell him no, but I want him to tell me he's going to do it anyway. Like, if he says so, I've got to even if I don't want to. Admitting I want it seems more humiliating than for it to just happen and for me to blame it on Cas.

He's reading a book and wearing a pair of black and white checkered pajama pants with a black t-shirt. I wonder if he'll let me take that t-shirt off and kiss his nipples. _Fuck, Winchester. Focus. None of that stuff, you're likely about to get reamed out._

I approach the couch as quietly as possible, shamefully, already knowing what a dick I was earlier. Should I head Cas off at the pass with an apology?

Cas snaps his book closed and places it gently on the coffee table. "There you are, I thought I was going to have to come get you."

He waits patiently for me to get the nerve to go to him. I can't believe how fucking nervous I am. How will it work? Will he just yank me over his lap and start spanking?

Cas laughs at me. "You look like a mouse entering a lion's den, Winchester."

Him making fun of me makes me feel better, puts me at ease. "Well you're the fucking lion right now, Cas."

"Am I sensing remorse for your most recent temper tantrum?"

"Yea—ah!" I yelp as he snatches my wrist and pulls me down to him. He pulls me into his side, placing a firm arm around me and immediately begins fiddling with my hair.

"Are you imagining all the horrible things I'm about to do to you, Baby?" he asks.

"Well aren't you?"

"Depends."

"On what?" I snuggle (yeah snuggle, fuck you) further into Cas and inhale. He feels safe and warm and comfy. I feel like burrowing myself into him right now and I don't even mean that sexually, I just feel so done I want to hold onto him. There's also overwhelming relief, that my little freak out didn't make him pack up and leave.

"Did you do something you should be asking me to spank you, for?"

Thank fuck I'm inside a cozy Cas lair, my whole body flushes with a warm pulse of embarrassment. "Ask you? Why would I ask you?"

"I told you Dean. I expect you to chose to obey me. I want that abundantly clear. Of course it won't always go this way. Sometimes I am just going to tell you that you've earned punishment, but I think to begin with you asking, would be conducive to your comprehension. It will drive home that this is what we have chosen."

This is worse than I thought. I was so sure he'd just fucking do it, I never expected to have to _ask_. I'd much rather he just hauled off and spanked my ass. "C'mon Cas. Don't make me fucking ask, just do it if you're going to."

"No. I promise the asking part is not to punish you, this is important to your understanding how this works. We must establish trust."

"I do trust you Cas, or I wouldn't do this at all."

"We have the beginnings of trust Dean, but the trust we are going to develop will be much deeper than the superficial trust we hold currently."

I get what he's saying, I just want to find a way he's wrong, because I don't want to do it—ask for a spanking. I know my discomfort with the idea is simply that: Discomfort and it's easy to decipher that Cas's role is to push my boundaries, challenge me, that's how growth takes place, blah, blah, fucking blah (I listened to a Tony Robbins CD once, I remember him saying something like that).

"So may I continue?"

"Yes."

"We have two hard rules, so far. What are they?"

"No talking smack about myself and no flirting."

"Very good. Is what just happened in violation of either of those rules?"

"No." I know it's a definite no, but somehow I don't think I'm home free.

"What did happen?"

"Cas, I don't want to talk about feelings."

"We have to Dean. We have to communicate, what you did wasn't fair."

Why does that sting more than him talking about spanking? "Look, I screwed up, so just break up with me already," I say pulling away angry. Fuck him and his feelings talk. "It's all going to be over tonight anyway after you see what you've signed on for."

"Mmmhmm. It's just as I suspected, Winchester," he says remaining calm even though I'm freaking out again, but he doesn't pull me back to him, realizing I need a bit of space. I've just given myself away, unintentionally. How the fuck does he do that? Must be magic. Stupid, wizard Cas. "You're not getting rid of me that easily by the way and that's not going to get you out of this conversation."

"What will?" I complain, but at this point, I'm resigning myself to it.

"Kicking me out. Would you like me to leave?"

"No! I, no Cas. I don't want you to leave."

"I didn't really think so, but I had to be sure. You're scared I'm going to leave and are beating me to the punch by _acting_ like a complete dick, which you are not in any way, not really."

"You're right, okay? Is that what you want to hear? I freaked and acted like a dick and it wasn't nice. I'm really sorry, Cas."

"Apology accepted, Baby," he says and chances kissing me, but approaches me like you might a wild animal you're trying to convince you're not going to hurt. He stops half way and I have to meet him the rest of the way to show him it's okay.

"Is that, it?" It fucking can't be, but I'm a hopeful fool.

"Depends."

"Fuck it with the 'depends' bullshit Cas."

He narrows his eyes tired with _my_ bullshit. "It depends on whether or not you feel you earned punishment."

"Ha! I've got news for you Cas, if you're asking me, I say no. I didn't break any _rules_."

"No, you didn't, but it still doesn't mean you're not deserving. This relationship is not black and white. Making firm rules is part of how this works, but there are other, soft rules, ones the two of us can reason out together in hindsight. That's the real fabric of this shirt, that's what makes it real."

"Sorry, babe. I don't follow."

"I'm going to ask the question again and I want you to answer me honestly. If your answer is 'yes,' I'm not necessarily going to haul off and spank you; I will make the final decision on that, but if you say 'no,' I'll drop this at your apology. Do you feel you should be spanked? "

I don't even have to think about it. "Yes," I breathe. "But I'm not sure why."

"That's why this is such a good first example. I've made it pretty clear that I expect respect from both of us toward each other, even if I didn't make it a firm rule—I shouldn't have to, you should want to respect me as much as I respect you. We have our particular type of banter and that's fine. There will be times when it's grey, as I touched on before and I will clarify those times, but times like now, I think it's safe to say neither of us feel there is any question which side this instance falls to. It was over our comfortable line of respect Dean."

Fuck. This is a lot harder than I thought. 'Cause yeah, I could fucking lie and get off Scott free, he's just said he won't question me further, but that wouldn’t be right. I don't want to start our relationship off like that. "I agree, I was over the line. Our line."

"And I think we already had a few instances of disrespect today, which I mentioned to you gently. I believe what I said earlier is true; I think you're pushing for more, I think you want to see what spanking is like; I think it would be a good idea."

I lick my lips that have gone dry and swallow. "I am curious, but I'm, I'm a bit afraid, okay? There I fucking said it."

"You're afraid because it's unknown, but I think we both agree you should be spanked."

"Yeah," I huff and cross my arms. I can't believe I just fucking admitted to that. "All signs point to yes, so, will you, uh, will you just do it already, Cas?"

He laughs again, which confuses me. If I'm about to get my ass whooped, shouldn't he be pissed at me? "C'mere, Baby," he says pulling me to him again; I go easily. "You're cute when you pout."

"Well I, don't want a spanking Cas, even if I know I fucking deserve it. I guess I'm more sorry I lost my temper than anything."

"No one _wants_ a punishment spanking, that's normal. You're not supposed to. If you did, it wouldn't work. The important thing is knowing _why_ you earned the punishment in the first place. Now that we both agree you should be punished, let's talk about the why a little further."

I groan. "Talk?"

"As much as you think the talking is punishment, it's not. What set you off? What were you thinking, Baby? I need to know." He runs his hand through my hair and it feels good, but all I can think is: What's it going to feel like when that hand slaps my ass?

"About Dad," I admit reluctantly. "He could never keep a partner around with us and we were more 'normal,' my situation with Michael is far from normal Cas. After tonight you're not going to stick around. I know it. It pissed me off."

"I think I deserve the benefit of the doubt, don't you? I left my shop for you and Michael, I wouldn't do that for just anyone."

"I know Cas, I…don't make me feel more horrible."

"I didn't tell you that, so you'd feel horrible, I told you so you'd have some measure of how much I love you, Baby. I do. So much. And Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"I haven't said as much yet, because I'm not sure how you'll feel about it, but I'm going to tell you now because it seems prudent. I love Michael too. I'd do anything for him. Anything. He just, crawled his way in here, so fast," Cas says putting a hand over his heart. "I honestly didn't expect it quite like this. I love my nieces and nephews, I have plenty of them, and I adore them, but I've never felt like this about a child. I know he was just parroting you when he said he 'loves' Cas, but it still made my whole fucking week."

I squeeze Cas tighter. "Why didn't you tell me that before? That makes me feel a fuck load better. I mean, I ended up figuring it out, just a few minutes ago, but still."

He smiles. "I think the reason I didn't tell you is obvious, you've got a phobia for talking about feelings, which I intend to cure, but it would be a mistake to throw too much at you too soon."

"All right, all right, you're going to turn me into a chick, can that be my punishment instead of a spanking?"

"Talking about feelings does not make one a chick and no. I'm going to spank you Winchester, I think it's better we get the first time over with and out of the way. How did you 'figure' it out? That I love your son?"

"The kiss to his forehead. None of Dad's girlfriends ever did that to us. It triggered me to thinking of just how much you've already done for us in such a short time—I was being stupid. Thanks, Cas and I really am fucking sorry."

"None of it is stupid and I already forgive you Dean, I understand now and I think this matter is over. I won't torture you with anymore 'talking,'" he winks. "We just have one thing left to do."

"Aw, Cas…"

"Have you changed your mind? Do you no longer think you have earned a spanking?"

Just the word spanking sends an embarrassed blush thrumming through my body and I want to tell him we can skip the spanking, but there's this annoying little voice (fucking Jiminy Cricket) telling me we should go ahead with it. Is that what a conscience does? "No I haven't changed my mind."

"In that case I'm going to tell you how this is going to go. I don't believe in giving a specified number of spanks. It's better the spankee doesn't know when the spanking will end, it makes it more of a wild card and more of a deterrent to an undesirable behavior. In addition, it's impossible to know how long your partner _needs_ to be spanked, in every instance, until the spanking is in session. However, we have not built that kind of trust yet, nor have I become acquainted with your thresholds. Tonight, I'm going to go very easy on you _and_ give you the number of spankings you will receive, so you'll know how far away you are from the end. You will be permitted to ask for breaks, as many as you need, but you will receive the full twenty-five to your bare bottom."

My embarrassment level spikes a few notches. "Bare? Is that really necessary?"

"Absolutely. There are three main reasons. Number one and most important: Safety. If I can't see your ass, there's no way to know what kind of damage I'm inflicting. Even jeans provide surprising little protection and everyone's skin is different."

"Oh."

"Number two, there is meant to be a shaming element to spanking. A bared bottom is far more embarrassing than a clothed one. It's part of that whole 'deterrent' thing. Physical deterrent is only one aspect to, the spanking needs to resonate with your inner self too, so the next time I give you a warning, it's not just tied up in how you might feel pain wise, superficially, but how you might feel shame wise; it's yet another way the physical can connect to the mental, emotional. Many describe it as a slightly uncomfortable, squirmy feeling they come to associate with their head of house's stern voice. This element, more so than the pain element, results in less spankings."

"Oh, well uh, what's the third reason, Cas?"

"It hurts more," he smirks.

"Hey, isn't this supposed to hurt you more than it hurts me?"

"Not likely Winchester."

"All right, where do you want me," I say.

"I think for the first time, it will be best over my knee."

"What like a little kid?"

"I suppose that is one way to look at it, but most say they feel it's more personal. They feel more cared for."

"All right. You're the expert Cas, let's just do this…can you…just tell me what to do?"

"I'm happy to take over, Dean. Stand up."

I stand as asked feeling fine until he reaches for the waistband of my pajama pants. "Cas, wait!" I say desperately.

"What now?"

"Are you sure you want to do this? It could emotionally scar me, what then?"

"I've psychoanalyzed you, remember? You'll be fine."

I know he's being sarcastic about the former, but I still say, "I thought you said you didn't do that?"

Having enough of my stalling, Cas's fingers quickly slip under the elastic of my pajamas, and proceed to briskly bare me. It's nothing like I'd envisioned. I pictured him laying down a few spanks over my underwear at least, but no, both my pajamas and my boxers are pulled straight down to my calves (so there's no question as to whether or not my ass is out and proud) then Cas pulls me over his lap. My cock, my very limp cock hits his legs first and I squirm a little in a vain attempt to get comfortable. I don’t think there's any 'getting comfortable' in this position. Likely another element to this—see? I'm a quick learner.

"I think it's safe to say I'm not turned on by this at all."

"That's probably for the best Dean, otherwise I'd make it so. I don't believe there should be any sexual gratification during a punishment."

"So, uh, twenty-five, you said?" I want to get this moving, I want off of Cas's lap, like pronto.

"That's right, but I'll set the pace thank-you very much."

"You want to take a picture back there? It'll last longer."

"One more smart ass comment and I'm increasing the total to thirty. If this were not your first time, I would have smacked your ass for that and it would not have counted toward the total."

"Sorry Cas, I'm just a bit nervous. This feels weird."

"I know you are Baby and I know it feels weird the first time. Would it help you to know it feels weird for me too?"

"But you've done this before, how could it feel weird to you?"

"I've never done this with you before, that's the weird part, but I don't know, Dean; the rest of it feels pretty right to me."

"I'll tell you what I think when this is over, which might be in the next century," I say, seeing if taunting will work.

"You know, Dean, I'm starting think I might like to read another chapter in my book before I spank you."

"That's great, Cas. How about I get up and make us some fucking tea?"

"Oh no, you will be remaining right here, over my knee with your ass in the air and you should know, I like to take my time when reading a good book."

Fuck me.

"So have I heard the last of smart assed comments? Are you finished taunting me?"

Stupid smart Cas, always figuring me out. "I'm done, sir."

"Thank-you, Dean."

I keep my mouth shut, knowing Cas has reached the end of his patience with me; he should get a fucking medal as is.

Cas pushes my shirt up my back, it makes me feel more naked than if I was wearing nothing. My fingers are tented, just reaching the floor and my shoulders are already starting to fatigue. I try to put a little weight into my toes, to relieve my tired shoulders, but it does almost nothing. I really hope he'll start soon, but he's already made it clear this is on his time, not mine. I really fucking regret taunting him. Maybe we'd be done by now.

Goosebumps do the fucking wave across my ass and down my legs, waiting, as the skin of my backside gets the slightest bit chilly, combined with mild nervous jitters. I want to fucking ask Cas if he'd like an engraved invitation to start spanking me, but I really believe him when he says he'll pick up his book again. Fuck is he a hard ass. I didn't expect this at all. He's a pretty snarky barista, sure, but I never guessed he'd be the spanking T-one thousand.

That's the last thought I have before he proves his new nickname. I get five, all in a row and all on the same cheek and holy fuck, I have to squeeze my ass cheeks together because, yes, it does hurt. I mean, nothing I can't handle, but it freaking stings. Instinctively, I want to reach back and rub, but I'm sure that's not how this goes. I might be a newb, but I can figure shit out. I hiss sharply, glad he's stopped, for now.

"How was that?"

"Not nice. It hurts."

"Supposed to. I think you're okay. Remind me, why are we here?"

"Really Cas we already—fuck! Ow!'

"That one doesn't count. I don't like to repeat myself, Dean."

"I was disrespectful."

"Thank-you." Cas unleashes his hand on the other side of my ass, another five times. It gets a little harder not to want to put my hand back. I squirm and clench my cheeks some more, trying to get the sting out; it does very little.

"Why shouldn't we disrespect one another, even if we're having a hard time?"

I have to think about that one for a second, not because I don't know the answer (and surprisingly not because I'm stalling any longer—I want this over with) but because I want to make sure he knows I'm going to work hard not to do it again. On second thought, who am I kidding? No one. I'm probably going to do it again, but I am going to work hard to _minimize_ how much I act like a dick to Cas. "Because it's hurtful, Cas. I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry, dude."

"It's okay Dean. I already forgave you, remember?"

"Yes, sir."

"I just wanted to make sure you associate this spanking with the behavior. It's important."

"Okay, Cas." Now that I'm part of the way through this, I'm going to leave this up to Cas. I do trust him and he is the expert. I should have done that in the first place.

"What should you do next time you start to feel anxious like that?"

"Initiate a fucking chick flick moment."

"Dean," he warns.

"Okay, okay. Talk about my _feelings_." I hope he accepts that, because it's the best I've got.

"Thank-you. I'm going to finish up now Dean, so it's going to be a bit intense. Tell me if you need a break."

I kind of want a break around number twenty, but I want to be done more, so I clench my jaw and power through. My ass must look like Hellraiser back there, but least I'm not crying. My eyes feel a bit glassy, like they might have a tear or two over their surfaces, but only from the sting. For anyone keeping track, my dick still isn't hard.

When Cas is done, he rubs my back and my ass, which feels nice and marginally relieves the sting. "Okay, Dean. You can stand up now."

I stand up and Cas bats my hands away when I try to help him pull up my clothes. "You did very well Dean," he says once my pants are back in place. "Now I'd like you to stand facing the wall for five minutes, please."

"What? Like, a time out?"

"Sometimes, but not right now. This is useful after a spanking. It gives one time to reflect as the sting to your backside settles, it's calming."

"But Cas, I—"

"Will you just try it, Baby? Please? I won't ask you to do anything I don't think will help."

"Okay, Cas." He leads me over to the wall of my living room and stands me three inches from the wall.

"When I ask you to do this, I'd like you to stand with your hands clasped behind your back, feet slightly wider than shoulder width apart."

I don't ask anymore. I'm way outta my element, I'm going to rely on Cas to guide me through this, so I just do as he instructs. I did say I'd just fucking try this with Cas, so this is me, just fucking trying it. "Thank-you Dean. I'll be back when it's time for you to come out."

The whole time I stand, staring at the wall, I can feel the faint throbbing of my backside. He really did take it easy on me. The sting that I felt painting my ass, probably red, is a dull sting. The difference between then and now is, like, steak knife and butter knife different. I'm not really sure what I'm supposed to be doing in this weird sorta of time out, but I can feel my heart, that I didn't know was racing, slow down and my body that was tense while Cas spanked me relaxes. My ass makes my thoughts wander briefly to why I was spanked in the first place, but already, it feels like my dickness happened yesterday and not some minutes ago.

By the time Cas comes back I feel…composed. "Here Baby, you wanna see? Everyone always wants to see."

"Yeah, I wanna see! I'll bet you took the skin clear off with that robo-hand of yours," I say snatching the handheld mirror from him, he must of grabbed from the main bathroom. I unceremoniously yank down my britches baring all, since Cas has already seen it anyway. I'm proud of how awesomely I took that spanking, until I see what's there: Almost nothing. It's barely even pink. "That's, disappointing." I freaked out over that? Man I suck.

Cas laughs and pulls me to him, fixing my pajama pants back in place and taking the mirror back. "Not to worry, I was very easy. You'll get something to gloat about in future. Tell me how that was for you—without cheekiness, please."

"That's a tall request Cas, but I'll try,' I say.

"Come back to the couch with me, I want to hold you, while you tell me baby."

"What is that? Like aftercare, or something?" He checks for cheekiness and finds none, there's no way I'm letting him have another crack at me so soon. One spanking a night is enough.

"Kind of, but not exactly," he says putting the mirror down on the coffee table.

I let him pull me back to the couch and I snuggle back into my Cas lair. It's good in here. Like it.

"That's better, now you may proceed."

"I don't know that what I feel is release, like you said I might, but there's some of that."

"The spanking wasn't intense enough for that kind of release, or I should say, it wasn't the right level of intensity for you to feel the kind of release I spoke of, but it's good to know it's a possibility. It has to be quite a bit more painful to experience that, I'm afraid."

I nod into him and can't fucking help but wonder what that would be like. "I feel something though, but Cas, I'm not good at explaining my feelings, I don't know how to describe it."

"You're just out of practice, so you feel uncomfortable, but I think you're doing a fine job. C'mon Baby, keep going—this is important."

I want to try for Cas, but man, I suck at this. I frown into his chest; glad he can't see me. He gives me all the time I need though to try and articulate it, rubbing my back and letting me fiddle with the hem of his shirt. Time passes, I don't know how much and he's still quiet, running a hand through my hair, kissing my head periodically, breathing in sync with me. "Okay, I got somethin'," I say. "But you can't make fun of me."

"Never would I make fun of you for something like this, Dean."

I take a deep breath. "It's like, you know when the wind is really howling and threatening to shake the fucking house down? You can hear the rain coming down in buckets, the thunder rolls, lightening flashes, sometimes the lights go out and make the house that eerie sort of grey with the just the light from outside shining through. Sammy and I used to get blankets and sit on this couch and tell ghost stories 'till Dad got home from work. The storm raged around us, but we felt warm and safe and cozy. For some reason, that's what this reminds me of. You're my blanket protecting me from the storm Cas, the storms can fucking blast all they want, but I've got you to shelter me, if that makes any fucking sense at all and I, yeah I like it."

"It makes lots of sense, Baby. I knew you'd like being spanked," he says proud of himself for knowing me.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. I didn't say I liked the actual spanking itself, that fucking stung—you sure you're not a robot Cas?"

Cas chuckles. "Not a robot and allow me to rephrase. You liked what the spanking brought you. It grounded you, provoked a change of pattern in a way nothing else could. Is that fair to say?"

"Yeah. What you said," I yawn.

"And now it's time for all the little Winchesters to go to bed," he teases.

"Bed? I don't wanna to go to bed yet. I'm just getting started with this whole talking thing, I'm suddenly an open book; got lots more to say. And it's our first sleepover, Cas. Can we at least make out for a bit?"

"No. C'mon, up."

Wow, Cas is like a fucking stubborn mule when he makes his mind up. I feel like pushing it, but the faint sting in my ass reminds me of why I shouldn't. "Fine, Cas, but this sucks."

"You're going to be thanking me in about three hours and complain over 'why didn't I put you to bed sooner?' I've got your number, Winchester."

Yeah, that sounds like me. "Where, uh, where you gonna sleep?"

"I thought I'd sleep on the couch, I'll pull some blankets and a pillow out of the linen closet."

"You sure, Cas? I've got a pretty large bed and you know, it gets pretty cold down here at night. Not to mention, this house is haunted. Old Betty Lou's ghost comes out looking for souls. I'm just worried about your safety."

Cas considers me wryly. "Okay, I'll sleep in your bed if you want me to that badly Winchester, enough to make up that load of nonsense. Let's go to bed."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, we will get to 'see' their night 'together' with Michael. Coming up next chapter.


	17. The Blustery Day Turned Into a Blustery Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not surprising, the resolution of Michael's sleeping debacle will happen over a few sleepovers...hopefully that's good news. (That means more chapters!)
> 
> But what I had planned for this chapter, well some of it happened and some didn't. 
> 
> As it goes with characters sometimes, you begin with an intent and the characters say: "Fuck you, Mock." (I don't know about your characters, by mine are fairly rude to me)
> 
> I would like to say an advanced thank you to Musichealsall (She is Cas's soulmate with a Major in psych and a minor in Human Sexuality) who gave me some great suggestions for helping Michael, that I have incorporated in my own Mockway (I hope I do her proud) and will continue to incorporate the rest of her great suggestions, as we go.
> 
> Updates: 
> 
> GUW (Some Chally!) on the drawing board next THEN WW (again).

Someday, Cas and I are going to slip into bed together, fuck like bunnies and pass out sex drunk tangled in each other's limbs. But that's a day, so far off in the distance; it looks like a fucking ant. Like, Michael moves out of the house far in the distance because yeah, I'm going to turn the guest bedroom into Michael's bedroom, but he can sleep with me for as long as he wants, so if Cas is sticking around he'd better just get used to that. Hell, it's been this way since the beginning, I don't know if _I'm_ ready for him to sleep away from me.

All of this is moot anyway, 'cause in order for any talk of change in sleeping arrangements takes place, the patrons of the establishment have to get some fucking sleep first.

It all began good. I slid in on one side of Michael and Cas on the other, me fucking giddy, excited that my _boyfriend_ is not only sleeping over, but sleeping in my bed. I don't even know how I got so excited over such a thing in the first place. Does spanking make you high? I think maybe it does to me. I'm in some fucked up kinda euphoria.

Michael was fast asleep, cuddled up to Ironman, sucking on his little soother, Cas and I reached arms across the pillows just above his head and joined hands, so we could touch something of the other's as we drifted off to sleep. Aw. Cue doves and rainbows, hell, bust out the flying unicorns.

But then the mogwai woke and it was a definite he ate after midnight type situation.

We haven't reached the point where I'm crying yet, since we've only just woken up. It's only quarter after midnight (okay, I am fucking grateful Cas made us go to bed early, three hours of sleep is decent), Michael is crying.

Cas is rubbing his eyes as I pluck up my son and Ironman and immediately start bouncing him in the dark. "It's okay, Cas," I tell him above the crying. "You should sleep a bit more, I'll go downstairs with him."

"Nonsense," he says coming with. "I stayed over for a reason and I intend to fill that purpose."

He's determined and even in my sleepy haze, I can hear the authority in his voice. He intends to be obeyed on that one, so I lead the way downstairs, rather than arguing. I don't turn on any lights except for the dim one over the stove (so I don't stub my fucking toe again) and work on getting a bottle. "I know, bud. I know," I coo at Michael. Cas is fishing around in the near darkness for something he left in the kitchen; it's his backpack. "Shhh. C'mon bud, Daddy's here. Remember. Daddy's mama's gone too?" That usually buys my ears a second or two of relief. It's hard listening to your kid cry for any length of time, and my kid's really got endurance. It rubs your insides raw and nothing makes you feel more helpless.

I know there's nothing Cas can do, Sam tried and it was disastrous, (we ended up playing poker for a good portion of the night, hence even less sleep) but I'm a little surprised that he's not even trying. He could get the fucking bottle for me at least. Instead he's…setting up a notepad?

"What the fuck are you doing, Cas?" I snap at him.

"Careful, Winchester." Wow. That tone. It does do something to me inside, a somewhat nervous, excited sort of sensation. I think I'm going to nick that the 'Cas has spoken tone,' 'cause fuck. I shut my yap, but I don't stop glaring at him, as he calmly finishes whatever the fuck he's doing then gets up to help me with the bottle. _About freaking time_. "I'm just preparing. Not to worry, I'll help you as much as I can, but from what you've told me, I think the best I can do for now is observe and make notes, perhaps come up with a strategy for future."

"Strategy?" I say, hoping to chase away the air my mini-outburst left before it settles.

"Yes. I doubt Michael's going to allow me to hold him—I think we should try, since he, well I've noticed he seems to do things with me he won't do with others—so I figure I could be of best use in another manner."

Oh. Sounds like he's really thought this out. I feel a bit embarrassed for assuming the worst.  
"Yeah, sounds good Cas. You wanna try taking him now?"

He shakes his head. "Give him a bottle, rock him and I'll observe. We'll try later."

I don't mean to be, but I'm a little fucking disappointed. I can't even believe I'm going to say this, but I guess I expected Cas to white knight me. Oh how the mighty have fallen. Yeah, I'm a pussy, but I don't know how many more nights of sleep I can miss, it's affecting me more than I'd like to admit. I know Cas is right though and it's not his fault.

"I'm sorry, baby. I wish there was more I could do than that, believe me," Cas says. "I will help in anyway I can, but unless he lets me take him there's not a whole lot I can do except be here for you. If he does, I'll stay up with him all night. Promise, baby."

I guess my disappointment shows. "I know, Cas. I'm sorry."

"No apology necessary." When the bottle is finished warming, he hands it to me and I lead the way back up the stairs, Cas and his notepad close behind. He makes himself comfortable on the bed, using his phone to light his area (so he can write) and replace Michael's fallen soother for the bottle.

Michael's quiet while I rock him, looking up at me, the only savior he's got and I fucking suck. Can't even soothe him right. There's not much light into the bedroom (save Cas's phone) but there's enough I can make out Michael's eyes, his big blue Michael eyes, bigger than his whole person; staring in awe of Daddy.

He sucks hungrily (you'd never know how much he ate at dinner) on his bottle, squeezing Ironman to him. Fuck. He's so sad looking and all I can think is I'm not good enough…not good enough…he needs more…

That's when the tears start tonight—usually it's awhile after he's been crying, but all my emotions are on the surface. Cas comes over and runs a hand through my hair. It feels good. "It'll be all right baby."

Michael recognizes Cas's soft, gravelly voice. He uses the hand around Ironman to point. "Cas?" he says around the bottle.

"Yeah bud. Cas is here." Thank fuck for Cas.

"How about Cas rock you and Daddy sleeps?"

"No." Cas gets fucking told. Can't say I expected it to be that easy and neither did Cas, but it was worth a shot.

Sadly, I have a bad feeling Cas's presence is going to keep Michael awake, which means more crying. That' doesn't mean I want Cas to go. Just the opposite. Cas can fucking move in if he wants. Just him being here feels good. Not alone.

"Everything is fine Winchester. From what I can see, he's soothed by you. Don't take the crying as an insult, it's a compliment. Children often cry more with their primary caregiver. It's because they feel comfortable. It's often the first thing small children do with Mom after a night with the babysitter."

"Really?"

"Yes. You're doing a good job. This is a time your stoic nature comes in handy," he says wiping away the tears he knows are there.

"Thanks, Cas," I sniffle. Just that helps. My boyfriend rocks.

I'm right in a way I don't want to be. Michael finishes his bottle and is wide awake, he resumes crying. Fuck. This is going to be a long one. I rock him, trying desperately to get him back to sleep. "You need to sleep big guy. I know you're tired."

He doesn't seem to hear me though and he must feel real comfortable around me, since he's crying for his mom loud. After an hour of this, my fucking tears are back. Cas comes over again. "I'm sorry there's not more I can do, Dean. Do you want to try him again, see if he'll come to me?"

I'm willing to do anything at this point. I stand up and pass Michael over to Cas. He continues crying, I'm not sure he knows he's been passed off just yet, is it too soon to hope he won't figure it out?

I get as far as the bed. I wasn't planning on sleeping (as if I could sleep with Michael crying like that and even if I couldn't hear him, knowing how fucking distraught he is, is enough to keep me awake) just resting my eyes on the bed. But I haven't laid down yet and he's figured out Daddy's passed him off to someone else.

"Daddy leaves! Daddy leaves me!"

"No, no, Michael. Daddy's right there. See him? It's Cas, my lad."

Michael goes quiet for just a second where Cas and I both hold our breath. He looks between Cas and me then starts wailing again, crying for Daddy and I can't fucking take it. Not because I'm annoyed by him, but because his pain is my fucking pain. "Here Cas," I say reaching for him.

"You know Winchester, if he's going to cry either way, maybe I should take a turn with him and you can go into the other room, or even downstairs to sleep a bit?"

It's posed as a question, but I can tell it's what he thinks is best, except I'm in no mood to take suggestions on this one and as we've already been over, I won't be able to sleep anyway. "Sorry, Cas. I'm taking him." I pull Michael out of Cas's arms and he comes to me easily, clinging to me for dear life now. Fuck. We've unintentionally made things worse.

"He's not going back to sleep Dean. Let's distract him."

"Yeah, okay."

Doing stuff, halts Michael's crying in spurts and some nights, I have given up on the whole getting him to sleep thing and just do stuff with him, like Sam and I did with the poker. But the more sleep he misses, the less keen I am on doing that. Most of my stress over this currently is the sleep he misses. The circles around his eyes are fucking scary-dark. And big.

Michael's still wailing loud when we make it downstairs, Cas brings his 'surveillance-pad' with him for taking more notes, we turn on lights, the dimmer ones and Cas gets out some of Michael's toys that he doesn't want to play with yet. Cas also has a gleam in his eye. I think he's up to something.

Cas sits on the floor and pulls out the wicked toy cars I picked out for Michael. Cas was with me that day. "Wow, this black car is like Daddy's car. I'm gonna play with it," Cas says, relaxing the normally sophisticated cadence of his voice.

Michael's still crying.

I'm not quite sure what Cas is doing, but I can take the hint that I should play along. "No way Cas. That's my car. I get to play with that one." I join Cas on the floor with crying Michael who's, not really crying anymore. Actually, he's fucking glaring at Cas.

"No! Is my car. Daddy's car's outside," he says fucking pissed, reaching for _his_ car. Cas hands it to him.

"Is that car like Daddy's?"

Michael nods, still pissed, his little face surly and his blue eyes zeroed in on Cas.

"You like Daddy's car?"

"Yeah," he sniffles.

"You want to play the Daddy game?" Cas says and I'm super fucking interested to hear what 'the Daddy game is.' I mean, I've played lots of 'Daddy games,' but I promise you, none of them were PG. I know Cas's will be straight up G-rated.

Michael does something he's never done before in the middle of the night—he fucking smiles. "Yeah." Holy shit. Cas is a fucking genius. So he hasn't succeeded in getting Michael back to sleep, I think we all know by now, that's a lost cause at the moment; he's doing something else, he's encouraging Michael's comfort and he's using me to do it. Stupid…okay not so stupid smart Cas.

Michael's still clinging to me, but he is interested in Cas, still filled with apprehension even if Cas has managed to weasel a smile out of him. Which he can have by the way. I'm still not so keen on people stealing my Michael smiles, but I guess Cas can have a few, specially that one.

Michael checks in with me. "The Daddy game? Sounds like a game made for me. Can I play Michael?"

"Yeah, Daddy. Silly."

"You are silly, Daddy," Cas says, pointedly. "You can't play the Daddy game without Daddy."

Well I didn't get the fucking memo. "Okay, how do we play?"

"Well, first, who do you want to be Michael? Do you want to be a Daddy too?"

"No. I'm Michael Inchester," Michael says annoyed.

"I'm sorry Mr. Inchester."

Michael smiles again. "Okay, you're the son. Daddy's son, Michael Inchester. Daddy's the Daddy, now who am I? Mama?"

What the fuck, Cas? I don't say it out loud, but the look on my face does. Cas ignores me.

"No. Cas."

"Oh, okay. Sorry, I was confused. That's right. I'm the Cas."

"So basically we're playing a game where we're all ourselves?" I say.

"Quiet, Winchester. Just play along."

I make like I'm locking up my lips and throwing away the key, he rolls his eyes at me.

"Do you know how to play the Daddy game?"

Michael shakes his head.

"It's easy. I'll teach you. What kinds of things does Daddy like to do?"

"Fix cars," Michael smiles super wide at that.

"Okay! Let's fix cars." Cas gets out a new car (red) for himself, and one for me (blue). Michael get's the 'Daddy car.'

We fix cars for a little while, a fairly quiet, not so stimulatory activity that distracts Michael, until Michael starts to get whiney, he's fucking tired and won't go to sleep. "What else does Daddy do?"

"Hangs with me."

"How do we hang?" Cas asks genuinely interested.

Michael looks to me. "Daddy. How do we hang?"

"Yeah, Daddy, how?" Cas's eyes go wide and that's my cue for something.

"Um, car ride?" is all my brain can come up with this tired. Michael and I hang in different ways, that's the first one that popped into my head.

"Okay. Let's go for a car ride."

"What? Like now?"

"You said it, Winchester. Though hanging in the rocking chair is what I thought you'd say."

"Dammit, Cas. I'm not a mind reader."

"We's going in Daddy's car?" Michael says excited. Oh sure, now he wants 'that car seat.'

"Yeah, let's go."

"Actually, I think this is better in some ways," Cas says when we're heading out to the garage. We're all in our pajamas. "He will fall asleep and it's a pattern breaker."

"If I don't fall asleep at the wheel." I'm almost tired enough to ask Cas to drive. Almost.

"I won't let you, Baby."

"Daddy. I got's no shoes," he tells me again. We really are hoping he'll fall asleep, so we left him shoeless.

"I know, bud. It's just a short car ride. You don't need'em."

"Don't need'em?"

"Nope."

He doesn't say anything else to me, but as usual, complains to his best friend. "Irunman, I got's no shoes. Daddy says, don't need'em…"

Cas is thoughtfully listening to Michael chat with his pal. He's so chatty, we have to drive around for an hour before he finally does fall back to sleep. We arrive home at two am, put Michael in bed and crash around him. He's up at three forty-five, crying for Mama again, this time, we head straight for the car. He's not as excited to go for a car ride this time (without the playtime beforehand) and we play a round of 'I doesn't want this car seat, Daddy.' He cries in the backseat, but there's nothing about Mama and nothing about Daddy leaves me. He's asleep in half an hour that time. We all climb back in bed around quarter to five. Thank god Michael's out this time 'till it's time to get up for work.

Only problem, Cas has joined the fucking tired crew. I can see it in his eyes, even if he's trying to hide it. He's also got some great, floppy, morning hair going on. "I'll take breakfast duty, if you want to get Michael ready, Baby," he says in a quiet morning voice, complete with the little croak you get from not sleeping well the night before, running a hand through his morning mop.

Michael's upset. He's sucking on his pacifier, just having finished a round of tears because…well who really knows why? I'm learning that three year olds don't need a reason to cry about nothing. He's in my arms and I'm swaying him and kissing his head, drunk-ass tried. "Yeah. Sounds good, Cas. Extra strong coffee this morning."

I take Michael upstairs, unsure if I want to battle him in the shower this morning. He'll cry, I'll be rushed, maybe it's better to shower later? But man I need the wake up this morning. I start running the shower and he starts crying again. "Don't want that Daddy."

"Okay, bud. Why don't you sit outside the shower? Okay?"

"No!"

Fuck. "Then you're coming in, dude."

"No, dude!"

"Yes, dude."

I start undressing him while he cries, forgetting what Michael not-crying sounds like. He's ultra-pissed this morning. Especially since we've arrived here, another morning, on yet less sleep. I'm starting to get irritated with him, so I'm more abrupt than I mean to be. I tug off his pajama shirt, least I try to, but he grabs the end. "No! Not going in there Daddy."

I yank it out of his hands. "Yes, you are. I'm the Daddy." Yeah. I know, I'm a dick, but in my defense, I'm fucking tired and dealing with a crabby three-year-old isn't all it's cracked up to be at the best of times. I just don't have the patience this morning.

I'm less rough with his pants, but he's fucking kicking all over the place having a grand fucking temper tantrum. "Michael," I say in a similar tone to how I did when he was in the doctor's office, thinking that will be enough to bring him to his senses, only I didn't get the memo, three-year-olds don't have fucking senses.

He's kicking and flailing with both his arms and legs now, Ironman is lost in the bedspread somewhere, so is his soother and I get punched hard in the fucking eyeball. "Ow! Fuck!" Before you judge me, have you ever been hit in the fucking eyeball? I promise, it hurts like a, "son of a bitch!"

I abandon his pants, which are half on and half off, displaying his diapered butt in favor of nursing my mutilated eyeball. Okay, so it's not _actually_ mutilated, but it feels like it is. As I hold my eyeball in its socket, Michael continues to freak out on the bed. I don't know what to do. I don't know what to fucking do. I want to just say, forget the fucking shower, I'm awake now, but I've heard Sam talk about giving into temper tantrums too often to forget the folly in that.

And huh. This actually brings to mind a memory about Sam and Dad. Sam was probably Michael's age and was flipping out on the floor in the entryway because he didn't want to go the park. It was a rare, _rare_ day that Dad had off. I was seven and really excited to go, Sammy did too, the day before, but he'd got up too early and was coming up on an earlier naptime. Dad's day off time was limited too. There were chores to be done, groceries to get, repairs on the house to make, the window for going to the park was only so big and looking back, I think he was most concerned about disappointing me. Sammy wouldn't have really known the difference if we didn't go, but I would have.

When Sam began flipping out, I told Dad, "that's okay, Dad, we can go another time, sir."

Something was stirring inside Dad that day. "No we can't son. I say we're going to the park, so we're going. Put your shoes on and let him scream. He'll settle and if he doesn't, I'll help him. If we do what he wants every time he has a tantrum, we can just expect more of'em."

Sammy did calm down…with a short tap to his bottom. Dad was quick to hand out spankings. I'm not against spanking, but even I know it's gotta be for the right candidate. I'm not sure that Michael's it and even in my tired state, I'm not annoyed enough to find out. I do think he could use some help; I'm just not sure what.

By the time the throbbing of my eyeball, reaches a dull discomfort, Michael's sobbing into a pillow, his tantrum having wiggle him into the position he's in now. He sure gave a wild display of Winchester temper, but now, it's cleared out of him, like Dad alluded to. I wish Dad could have met his grandson, I'm sure he would have done him proud a moment ago.

I step out of my own pajamas and boxer briefs then begin working on his diaper as he heaves a shattered breath. "Michael," I say with mild sternness. "Are you ready to come with Daddy?"

"Okay," he whines.

Okay? Fuck. I really don't get three-year-olds. I lift his naked little body and set my arm under his tiny butt, his legs wrap around me as he settles into my side. "Daddy's mad?"

Least he's not spazzing about it like he did in the doctor's office. I don't think I can take another Michael tantrum this morning, but I'm not holding my breath over what this shower's gonna look like. "No, Daddy's not mad. Just frustrated." I know he won't know what that means, but I still say I get to do that as a parent: Voice my thoughts out loud, even if it's crap my kid won't understand.

"Daddy has an owie?"

"Yeah, because Michael punched Daddy in the eyeball," I say sternly. I'm pretty sure Dad would have given Sam or I a pretty good spanking for that, accident, or not. I'm not entirely sure I shouldn't say something, but I go with my gut on this one and decide him having to come in the shower with me is enough.

He takes another shuddery breath and fresh tears sprout from his eyes, a lot like when he first came here. I remember what Cas said last night, it's a compliment when he cries and I add tantrums to that, he's comfortable. I also remember what Sam said about him testing me…is that what he was doing? I'm not sure, but I know the silent tears are not good.

"C'mon big guy. Daddy loves you, everything's fine. You've got a wicked right hook. Did Ironman teach you that?"

Cue yet more crying. At least this time, I get tiny sobs instead of the chilling silent ones. I run the shower and step under with him, he hates it just as much as usual when I have to put him down to wash, but I'm fast.

When we're out, I lay us in towels on the bed for a little Michael-Daddy time out and we stare at each other. I can guess how he feels, 'cause that look on his face, expresses how I feel: Toast. We're also both sorry for flipping out at the other wanting the other's forgiveness and giving it immediately. We smile at the same time and it's yet another moment I feel connected in a deeper way with my son; like we have something no one else has. Something like what I have with Sammy, and what I hope to have with Cas someday, but different.

"Hey, do you hear that?" I say suddenly.

Michael looks around.

I pull out the Ironman stuffie I can feel sticking into my back. "It's Ironman, Daddy was squishing him!"

He holds out his arms for his friend. I also find him his soother. "Okay, time to get dressed."

By the time we make it downstairs, we're both more exhausted, but we look the same…to anyone but Cas. He figures us out right away. "What happened?" he squints. "Is your eye red?"

"Got hit in the eyeball, after I turned into my father."

He doesn’t like my answer. "What does that mean Winchester?"

I sit Michael in front of the breakfast Cas made him and explain the simultaneous temper tantrums that took place.

"While I agree you could have been more composed, your level of impatience is as to be expected at this point in time and on the little sleep you've had. The situation called for you to be stern Winchester."

"Why do I feel so guilty about it then, Cas?"

"That's perfectly normal. Many parents feel guilt when they've been cross with their dearest one. It's the same reason parents are so easily manipulated by them." He shakes his head. "No, you did the right thing."

"I still feel shitty." I remember how good I felt last night after that spanking. All the love, the attention, the coziness. I felt like a good person in that moment; it gives me an idea. "I think you should spank me, Cas. I'll feel better then."

Cas gives me a look I can only call 'concerned Darth Vader.' Because he's got the immovable stern expression I've only ever seen on the fallen Jedi (yes _with_ the freaky black mask), but it's softened with worry. Like maybe if Anakin hadn't turned evil. "I decide who gets spanked around here Winchester, not you and right now that's no one. We will talk about this. Later. I'd like it to be now, before you do get yourself into real trouble, but I don't think there's enough time."

"Before I get myself into trouble? What's that supposed to mean?"

"If you have time on your lunch break, phone Sam and ask if he's read the chapter on brats and tops," Cas says smirking.

"Phone Sam and…? But how could he…? How did you…?"

"You two are not as cunning as you'd like to believe. It's a good thing you two aren't hunters."

"Hunters? What's that?"

"You know? A hunter? A person who goes out into the wild to hunt an animal for food? You have to be pretty sly to be a good hunter. I figured out what you two were up to and it's okay by the way. I know you don't have much time for reading and I would rather you sleep. I do want you to know what's in my book—I don't care how you do it."

"That would have been nice to know Cas."

"And ruin my fun?" he smiles. "All you had to do was ask, you know."

"Yeah, yeah."

Michael's staring at Cas as he eats his breakfast figuring something out. "Daddy?"

"Yeah, Grease Monkey?" Fuck am I glad he doesn't hate me.

"Cas sleeps in my bed and Daddy's bed?"

I did not think that one through. "Yes that's right." Then I think of something that will win me brownie points with Cas. Not that I need them for anything at the moment, but I have a feeling it can never hurt to have too many of those in the bank. "It's because we loves Cas, remember?"

"Yeah, Daddy. We loves Cas."

Cas knows what I'm up to, but his eyes sparkle anyway. "Cas loves Michael too, sweet boy."

We've officially become every family related sitcom.

"Eat your breakfast," Cas says even though Michael definitely does not need to be encouraged to eat his breakfast; I think he's a bit lost for words. I mean, he still had words, the perfect words because my son is practically humming (guess it's no secret we've both got a soft spot for Cas) but now he's out. With Michael anyway, he's got lots to say to me.

"I'm going to stay here and sleep, Winchester and meet up with you two after lunch. I'd like it to be you, but we both know it can't be because you're too stubborn to stay home from work."

"You could make me," I suggest. Maybe I want him to. Do I? I'm not sure.

I see him considering it. "Some Heads of Houses might and I think under particular circumstances I would, but we're not there yet. I prefer another route and to only use force when necessary."

"What route is that?"

"Attempting to drill through your stubborn skull and get you to realize for yourself," he says almost fondly. I think he really likes my stubborn skull even if it frustrates him. "Perhaps I should ask you to stay home, but I hold hope that you'll come to this realization yourself."

"Not likely Cas."

I get another funny look. "You really are asking for a spanking, aren't you?"

"You gonna make me say it again? That's what I said."

He's quiet and goes back to eating his breakfast, so I do too. We're having some kind of weird stand off. Suddenly Cas's face relaxes like he's figured out some complicated Sudoku, which I think is me. "Of course," he mutters to himself, then he crooks a finger at me. "C'mere, Winchester."

"Huh? I'm eating my breakfast Cas, I've got to go."

"Slide your chair closer and bring your plate. I'm not asking."

Oh. _Oh_.

I do as asked. Moving my chair closer to Cas, puts me a little further away from Michael, but not by too much. Soon as I'm close enough, he yanks me to him, right into his side and my stomach does a drop, a good drop like when you're flying down a roller coaster. He pulls my head back, pressing my hair away from my forehead (I don't have any gel in it today) he takes a fork full of eggs from my plate and feeds them to me. I accept them, still not sure what's going on and he takes me by surprise again, kissing my closed lips as I slowly chew. I give him my 'what the hell?' eyes.

"Cas loves Dean too," he says and I…oh. I feel warm all over, kinda like last night after he spanked me. Guess there's more than one way to feel that. He feeds me another bite then passes me my own fork. "Be good, Winchester."

I smile wide. I don't know how the fuck he does it, but Cas seems to know exactly what I need when I need it. "Yes, sir."


	18. Hugo Boss Made My Sweat Pants

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to let y'all know I made some edits to chapter 13. I wasn't 100% happy with some pieces of my description. Trouble is, this DD stuff isn't black and white and in my attempt to distinguish between DD and BDSM, I went too far. I brought them planets apart, instead of, just like a country or something. 
> 
> I've had some great convos with BellaRisa (which I hope there will be more of) and through those, was able to clarify for myself where I was trying to go. I'm going to paste the edited piece below, but I still don't think it's clear enough, hence, I'm going to make sure the characters illustrate over the course of the story. Thank you for your patience and sorry to confuse. BellaRisa's also given me permission to use some of what she said in the story, so I'll be weaving some of her stuffs in, in a few different ways. 
> 
> Thank you BellaRisa for all your help! And loving support ;-)
> 
> Also, played with writing style a bit this chapter. For a lot of the time Dean is at work, it's choppy, b/c I'm trying to reflect the chaos inside of him that he doesn't really understand yet to the reader another way. Sorry if you hate it. Dean smoothes out toward the end of the chapter. 
> 
> This chapter is for OneWhoLooksAtStars, because it's her birthday tomorrow! Happy Birthday!!
> 
>  

"I was thinking, Winchester," Cas says as we collect breakfast plates and bring them to the sink. I have to leave soon, but I've got a little time.

"He looks tired enough I think we could get him to sleep before you go, you could leave him here, we get a few more hours sleep and I'll bring him to your work. If I'm lucky, I may be able to bring him to the Coffee Shop with me, just to check in on things."

"Won't he flip out when he wakes up and I'm not there?"

"Potentially."

"Potentially?"

"Yes, but it will be for me to worry about. He did good with me that day at the super market, makes me wonder if it's just at night time he won't come to me."

"He freaked that day."

"When he saw you. That's normal."

"I don't know, Cas."

"It's only a suggestion, Winchester. Don't do it if you're not comfortable."

All I have to do is take one look at my son, who's barely holding it together (fuck, I'm barely holding it together) to make my decision. "I want to try, Cas." And I do, but it doesn't take away my apprehension. If I'm being completely honest, I don't like the thought of being parted from him for such a long time. We haven't been apart since he got here, we don't even sleep apart.

"Okay. You rock him to sleep, I'll clean up here. I bet he's out in five. Maybe take a bottle to be on the safe side."

Cas is right (always is) and Michael's out like a light with more than enough time for me to make it to work _on time_. I'm a bit jealous leaving Cas with my Michael. He climbs into bed with him before I leave, snuggling around him and Ironman and my heart clenches a little. I like the picture it makes; I want to join them. "I'll, uh, lock up and leave the key under the mat." I still don't have a stroller, and Cas doesn't have a car seat in his car, but Cas insists they'll have enough time they can walk, he'll carry Michael if he gets tired and failing that, they'll call me and I'll come pick them up.

My drive to work is lonely and boring. I try to picture what Michael would talk about with Ironman on the way. "Daddy gets mad Irunman. I hurt his eyeball. Then we has a shower. I doesn't like that."

I'm already used to Cas driving with us too. I miss his sarcastic quips and that voice he uses when he says: _Be good, Winchester._

I'm only a block away from the house and I fucking miss them both already. I feel like I left a limb behind.

I'm in a bad fucking mood when I get to work. Benny notices right away and thinks asking me about Michael is helpful. "Where's the kid?"

"None of your fucking business."

"Whoa. Touchy. Fight with your boyfriend?"

Also not helpful. "Why are you a douche this morning, Ben?"

"Sorry, brother. Not trying to be."

Fuck. I'm a dick. "Naw. It's me, I'm just fucking tired. Up all night with a crying kid," I tell him. That sounds more like me, not: I just left him, but I miss my kid like fucking crazy and oh yeah, I miss Cas too.

I start on my first car. It's something Michael could have helped me with. Yeah it's easier without him—not gonna lie—and I'm faster, but it's not the same. I'm still so tired, I get…weepy over that. I spy what Benny's doing (he's under a car) so that I can inconspicuously wipe my damn eye.

Every so often, I check the time. I'm not really a 'time-checker' at work. I love my job and often stay overtime, only ever checking the time if I have somewhere to be after, or an appointment midday (fucking doctors and dentists never seem available on the weekends or after work). But today I'm checking, about every half hour. I want the afternoon to get here, so I can see my family, er, uh, I mean my son and Cas. Michael's my son and my family, but Cas isn't…yet.

My stomach growling at eleven am reminds me that I forgot to bring a fucking lunch and makes me think of Michael; Michael likes food. Is Cas going to feed him? Yeah, of course he will, but, well I won't get to see him eat and it makes me feel soothed knowing my kid ate and that he's full. Ugh. This is re-fucking-diculous.

It's eleven forty and no sign of them (I've checked the door at least twenty thousand times) so I storm off to the break room for some shitty coffee, Bobby's there. "I'm heading out for some grub, you wanna come?"

What if they show soon and I'm not here? "Naw, Bobby. I've got something to finish, but maybe you could pick me something up?"

"You betcha."

I drink the crappy coffee and stew a little bit, then I text them to see when they're coming. _If_ they're coming. Maybe they've ditched me.

 _On your way?_ I text.

It's not long before he texts back: _Sorry, we will be a bit late. We slept longer than intended._

Longer than intended? Now I have to fucking wait for them? I've already been waiting all fucking morning. How long could they have slept? He couldn't text me sooner?

Yeah, I think all that sappy crap, but then I think of Michael sleeping so sweetly beside Cas and well, he really fucking needs the sleep. Daddy can wait however long he needs to wait, my Michael needed some extra shut eye.

I still huff as I text my reply: _Well come soon, okay?_

I wait impatiently for him to text me back.

He does: _As you wish. Can you take a later lunch? Say two?_

I like knowing what time they're coming, least now I can just watch the time, instead of the fucking door too. I smile down at the phone. _Done._

That'll work good, when Bobby gets back with my order, I'll take a quick break to eat then, finish another job then save one of my easier jobs for when Michael gets here—he can help.

Bobby brings back my two cheeseburgers and fries, but ditches me, alone with my thoughts. I decide to make a vow not to think of Michael, Cas'll know to change his diaper, won't he? Yeah of course. I distract myself by thinking about Cas and this whole DD thing we're doing. I was kinda surprised Cas didn't spank me when I asked him to. I'm beginning to see this is a lot more than him spanking me when I 'do something bad.'

I decided to call Sammy. Wanna see if he read any of that book. Probably. Probably twice and highlighted and used sticky notes. I call. "Heya Sammy."

"Yes, I read some of the book Dean."

"Hey. Maybe I'm calling just to say hey."

"But you're not."

"Yeah, okay, I'm not. Cas spanked me," I blurt out. I'm alone in the break room. I don't care if Sam and Gabe know, but I'm not ready to share with Bobby and Benny just yet.

"So didn't need to know that dude, but, uh, how was it?"

"Fuck. I liked it Sam, felt good. Well, no it didn't feel good while it was happening, Cas has a hand made of the stuff the T-one thousand does, but after."

"Did you just talk about feelings?"

"Shut up dude."

He laughs. "Sorry, it's just…wow Dean. This is good. This is real good."

"The book. What have you read?"

"The intro and the first couple chapters."

"I thought you'd of read it twice through by now."

"I wanted to take my time for you. I sticky noted some things for you and I hope you don't mind, but I highlighted."

See? I fucking knew it. "Did you read a chapter on Brats and Tops? Cas said it was important to me for some reason."

"Just started that chapter, but, uh dude, maybe you tell him that I'm reading the book for you—from what I read so far, I don't think it's such a good idea for you to keep things from him."

"Way ahead of you Sammy, he already knows."

"He put two and two together when he saw us in the kid's playroom?"

"Yup."

"Wow, you really are a brat."

"What does that mean dude?"

"Well from what Dr. Novak explains in his book—"

"You _so_ don't have to call him Dr. Novak, douche."

" _Cas_ says that sometimes the dynamic between a pair involved in a domestic discipline style relationship takes the form of 'brat' and 'top.' Top seems pretty self-explanatory, he says, and it is, but he emphasizes that this does not refer to the couple's sexual activities per se."

"Yeah, Cas said something about that. So, I guess just because he's my 'top,' doesn't mean he has to always 'top' in the bedroom."

"Yeah. However, there are DD couples who define themselves as dominant and submissive, without it having anything to do with the whole BDSM thing. Those terms, dominant and submissive are merely adjectives for each person's personality. You get I'm just saying they are simply adjectives and not nouns, right? Like Ironman is red? It doesn't make him _a_ red—"

"I know the difference between an adjective and a noun Sammy."

"Okay, well it is a bit confusing, it's not black and white—the examples Cas has in the book give the ideas context and make them comprehensible. Often times, you can have a dominant personality paired with a dominant personality, but one person is still in charge at home and can bring out the submissiveness of their partner. Like Gina and Lucy."

"Gina and Lucy? I feel like we've gone a long way from home Toto."

"I know. I'll start making sense, promise. I just think you and Cas, though I would love to chat with Cas about this because it's freaking fascinating and to make sure I'm correct, are a bit of a blend. Anyway, Gina and Lucy. Gina is the president and CEO of her company, Lucy is the Head surgeon of an unnamed hospital. Both dominant personalities out in the world, but when they come home, Lucy is their head of house. She brings out Gina's submissive-type character and Gina loves it because she likes having someone to take over for her, someone she can depend on to make decisions for her. Brought to mind the saying: Take a load off. Reading this reminded me of you Dean. You're a dominant personality, always have been, but you've always had the whole world on your shoulders—no one needs to take care of Dean, he's got everything. But that's gotta be stressful Dean."

"I don't mind taking care of people," I say defensively. "And I think I've done a damn good job—I mean I wasn't fucking perfect—"

"Not what I'm saying Dean. You did a good…you _do_ a good job, but it would feel weird for you to accept my help, as I've said before. I get that. It would be like you or I helping Dad—it'd just be weird. But I think you could let Cas take care of you and that he's the kind of someone who could bring out your submissive side. In fact, I think when Dad was around it balanced you better, but uh, maybe we talk about that another time. One concept at a time."

Fine with me. "Sammy," I warn. "I'm not in any way, fucking submissive."

"Look, you're taking it all the wrong way and I don't know how else to explain it to you. Let me think on it, but for now just, think about what I said?"

"Yeah, I'll fucking think about it Sammy. What does it say about 'brats?'"

"I find it interesting that you seem to be okay with that particular adjective."

"Make with the explanation, Sammy. This isn't analyze Dean hour."

"Jeez Dean. Okay. So, brats. Cas lists a bunch of synonyms: punk, rascal, wild one, unruly child, jackanapes—"

"Jackanapes?"

"Synonym for brat."

"Yeah, I got that, but never fucking heard of it."

"Brats push tops. Brats can be submissive, or not, but it is often passive type behavior."

"How so?"

"Other than it means acting like and unruly child? It means instead of straight up asking for punishment, you might act out instead, push your top into punishing you."

"Huh. Well maybe it isn't me then. I asked Cas to uh, you know, this morning."

"You did?"

"Yeah, but he wouldn't. Apparently I needed…yech…cuddling."

"Aha! I was confused for a moment, because you fit this description and these examples (I highlighted the most prominent ones for you, you can read one a night, they're short) seemed to sound a lot like what I've seen of you and Cas even before you got together. But this morning Dean, cuddling, love, is what you wanted and you couldn’t ask for it—still passive behavior, same thing just different mechanism. You didn't really need a spanking. I'm willing to bet ten bucks, that next time you're actually due to be spanked, you push Cas into it."

Still not sure what he fucking means. "Fine wise guy. I'll prove it. You're on for ten bucks. I can't wait to be ten bucks richer," I chuckle.

"I was just thinking the same thing. But hey, was that helpful at all?"

"I'm still confused, but I think I'm going to have to see it in action—you know that's how I work."

"Yeah and there's more to it. Like I said I'm only part way through the chapter on Brats and Tops."

"Get to reading then. We still on Saturday for the book event at Cas's shop?"

"Oh you're going now?"

"Shut up. It's Daddy and Michael day, I know the kid already likes books. It's inevitable, he's like his uncle Sammy—least that means he'll be fucking smart."

"His daddy's fucking smart too. Yeah, we'll be there. Gabe leaves first thing tomorrow, so it'll be just me and the kids."

"Kay."

I get off the phone with Sammy and the warm, light-hearted feelings I felt when I was talking to him seep away and I feel cold again. I check the time, twelve forty-five. I'd better get back to work, so I can finish that job.

I mean, this is good, right? This means Michael's virtually spent the whole day with Cas and they haven't needed me at all. I'm the only one with the problem, the fucking separation anxiety. I wipe another tear away. This is fucking stupid.

I get back to work, but the whole time I'm wondering: What are they doing right now?

~BDD~

I wake up before Michael does. He's lying curled in a ball looking even tinier than he usually does. No wonder Dean didn't want to leave him, Michael's the kind of child you want to fold around and protect no matter how many harpies are pecking at your insides—sorry, I read a lot of Greek mythology.

Currently, I want to squish him to me and give him a hundred kisses, but I want him to sleep more. Not to mention, I feel Michael's a lot tougher than we give him credit for. His size and his situation result in the adults that love him (including me) walking on eggshells, but I think he's a fierce spirit like his daddy. I think he can handle a bit more, that he can be pushed, which is why I suggested we do this.

I'm interested to see how he responds to being left with _me_ in particular. I wouldn’t have suggested someone else. He's not ready for that, but he seems to respond to me like Dean does, I'm banking on that…and I've got a few tricks up my sleeve if I'm wrong. I'm not usually wrong though.

Michael stirs, blinking his eyes open sleepily.

"There you are sleepyhead," I say distracting him, before he can have the chance to get upset. He slept a good three hours, so he should be in a better mood, but that means I'm going to have to text Winchester and tell him we won't make it for noon. "Are you ready to go see Daddy?"

He nods, sucking his soother, like it's completely normal that I'm here and not Daddy. Perfect. That's my big plan, if you were wondering. Instead of trying to distract him _from_ thinking about Daddy, I'm going to distract him _by_ thinking about Daddy.

He puts his arms out wanting to be picked up and I oblige him. Unable to resist, I give him a couple of kisses on his cheek and forehead. "Stop it, Cas. Is just wakin' up," he says around his soother, but he's got the hint of a smile.

"My mistake Mr. Inchester."

"Daddy?"

"Yep. We're going to see him, remember? First I have to get dressed and we have to change your diaper. Can you help me?"

He shakes his head. It's easy to tell he's uncertain about this whole ordeal. He knows I'm safe, but I can see he thinks he should be crying because Daddy's not here; so far, he doesn't.

"Okay. I'll be quick." I lay him back on the bed before I retrieve a diaper for him; he watches me carefully. When I return, he stretches his arms over his head with a big wake up yawn around his soother. God, he's adorable. I get a small, soother smile as I begin changing him.

"Cas sleeps in Daddy's and Michael's bed?"

"Yes. Was that okay?"

"Yeah. Loves Cas."

Is it possible to love someone this much? This kid makes my heart want to burst.

"I loves Michael," I say as I continue changing him.

"Again?"

Huh. Didn't expect that. Only because I know Dean will say yes, I tell him, "Yes. I think that could be arranged Mr. Inchester."

When Michael's ready to go, I reach to my backpack I brought upstairs before I climbed in with him and pull out the causal grey sweats, blue t-shirt and hoodie I brought. I can't wait to see Winchester's eyes pop when I'm wearing something other than my work attire. I consider myself on a temporary leave, officially, so I opted for the laid back attire and well, I own the place, I can technically wear what I want.

Michael watches me while I change. His eyes are glazed over with tears, but he's not crying, he's got his pacifier to soothe him for the time being. "You hungry?"

"I'm hungry, Cas," he says pulling the pacifier out then popping it back in.

"Then we better get you something to eat." I pluck him up and he settles into me comfortably.

"Cas?"

"Yeah?"

"We is going to see Daddy?"

"Yep. We have to go meet him at work."

"Fix cars?"

"Yep. We'll fix cars, or rather you and Daddy will fix cars. Cas doesn't fix cars."

"Cas doesn't fix cars," he states shaking his head. "Only Daddy and me."

"That's right." I sense his uncertainty, but no crying, so we're good. I maintain the steady, calm for which I can be counted on and feel him relax a smidge more. The sleep's done him some good; Dean will be pleased. I push his hair off his forehead and plant a kiss, again, I can't help it. I love this little boy.

He lets me make him a new bottle, and I give it to him allowing him to suck and keeping him close, sitting him on the counter while I get him fixings for a sandwich. He was much like this when I took him to the market with me; quiet, observant and apprehensive. But no crying.

I think Dean's the reason he cries and I don't mean that in a negative way. It's as I said before, children feel most comfortable to cry with their primary caregiver. Michael's probably got a lot of tears to get out, he wants to cry on Daddy's shoulder.

"How about ham, my lad?"

That gets me a half smile. I swear. Michael and Dean with food. "I'll take that as a yes, but I'm not going to do it myself, you're going to help me," I inform him.

He puts his bottle down, when I get him to the table, interested, and I set him up with bread, mayonnaise and a butter knife then show him how to spread. "You want to make one for Daddy too?" I'm pretty sure Dean left the house without a lunch. Too much going on this morning.

"Yeah," he nods, a bit mournfully.

I keep him distracted by putting more bread in front of him and giving him instructions. He makes a grand mess, but I can tell he's having fun.

I get a text from Dean. _On your way?"_

I smile at the thought of him missing Michael, so much, he's anxiously texting. _Sorry, we will be a bit late. We slept longer than intended._

I can see him looking at the text, getting pissed, but taking a breath realizing the extra sleep was to Michael's benefit then calming down enough to write his response. _Well, come soon, okay?_

_As you wish, Baby. Can you take a later lunch, say two?_

_Done._ I can picture his relaxed smile as he presses send.

Now I'm thinking about Dean. I remember the first time he walked into my coffee shop. He was with his brother, a smile on his face so bright I was momentarily blinded. Dean's, beautiful.

I knew he was a fun guy, just from looking at him and immediately decided I needed more fun (like him) in my life. Laid back, bubbly, eyes alight with mischief—it all attracted me to him and I wanted him just for me. It's the only way I can have someone.

I'm too familiar with Dean's kind, at least the kind he's been playing at being and it's not the kind me, or anyone else, can have a any sort of relationship with—certainly not a domestic discipline style relationship. As I got to know Dean, I recognized that if he could let the playboy persona go, DD would be just what the doctor ordered. Though, I've got to say, it's going even smoother than I thought it would.

It was watching him with Michael, the first time they came in together that sealed things for me.

Clearly he'd never had to balance a diaper bag and a child at the same time before. I really had thought perhaps it was another nephew, _at first,_ knew the child had to be related genetically somehow because the two were so much _alike_.

Him fumbling around like that, I wanted to help him, but I knew he'd never have accepted it, least not then, so I just got to watch him navigate and enjoy. The way he looked at Michael (even before I knew he was Dean's son) I knew something had changed within him. Nothing else in the world existed; just Michael.

That's when I knew I had to start making my moves. Dean was ready for me. A guy like Dean doesn't become emotionally available everyday and besides, I'd had more than enough of watching, day after day, Dean coming into my coffee shop, men and women staring at him, desiring him. It irritated me. I wanted Dean, even then and I didn't want them looking at Dean like that. Not that I can ever stop that, Dean's like a peacock in a room of sloths, but it mitigates the burning jealousy I feel knowing that he choses me over anyone else and I can tolerate them.

I went in strong. I know what I want and I don't stop 'till I get it—well, within reason. I wouldn't have truly made Dean stay with me if I knew he didn't want to. I knew he did want to and it was a simple matter of overcoming his Winchester pride. I didn't mean to wound him so, but he wasn't ready for someone like me when he asked me to dinner and I wasn't going to ruin my chances. _That_ Dean, would have run screaming (okay, not screaming, swearing) from a guy like me. I had to turn him down. I saw the momentary sting of 'crushed heart' in his eyes and in the lines of his face, before he shrouded it with anger. The war began and I always hoped to someday end it with him in my arms.

I never planned on Michael, but now I can't picture life without him. I feel adopted by him, strangely. The first time he spoke to me, ratting out his brat-like father, I knew he was bringing me into their family of two. I know he's still a Daddy's boy—Dean's the only certain thing in his life at the moment—but I think if I prove myself, I could become important to him like his daddy. I hope. Perhaps not just like his daddy, only Dean's ever going to be the apple of Michael's eye, but important. Michael loves Cas is a damn good start if you ask me and I plan on being worthy of that love.

"Cas?" he says holding up the bread with only a spackling of mayo on it (his last one had way too much), crumbs sprinkling to the floor.

"Good, job my lad. Wait 'till we tell Daddy you made him a sandwich, he's going to be so proud of you," I tell Michael and he beams. I help him, but let him put the ham and cheese on. We cut the tomatoes together, but I let him put those on too, handing him his bottle again, while I package them up. Michael and Dean can eat them together, I'll get him a croissant at the shop. Correction, I'll get them both croissants from the coffee shop and they can have a Daddy, Michael picnic.

~BDD~

Michael's fine, more or less the entire time, but when he sees Daddy, of course it's all tears. The sight of Daddy sets off a dead waking wail, I receive a Dean death glare as he picks up his son. "You wasn't there, Daddy."

"I know. I know big guy," Dean says bouncing him. "But I'm here now. Way to go Cas."

The boy was literally laughing with me when we stopped by the shop and one of my staff put on a show as she packaged croissants for him. He clung tight to my blue, hoodie jacket and Ironman while he watched her, periodically looking up at me to see if I was laughing too. He didn't ask for Daddy for a full hour: the whole walk to my coffee shop, while we were in the coffee shop (the croissants reminded him of Daddy and he smiled as he pointed out that Daddy liked them and he definitely talked to Ironman about Daddy non-stop, but he didn't ask when we were going to see him) and the whole walk here.

But none of that matters because to Dean, it looks like I had a miserable, boy whose daddy left him. Not to mention, I'm sure Dean has his own insecurities about that. Worse is that Michael's practically inconsolable right now and I think Dean is too. Dean didn't get the sleep we did. Saying anything right now will result in him lashing out at me, even if it's to offer my help. A physical gesture, like a hug is also a bad idea. I'll get the same result. I don't want to just walk out of the room though, so I decide on, "I'm going to go say hi, to Bobby. Be right back Dean."

"Sure, Cas. Make my kid cry then leave."

My whole body tenses. I know he's tired, I know he'll feel like an ass for saying something hurtful and impulsive later, but I'm still spanking him for that.

"You need to calm him down. My assistance is not required. I'll be back."

I hear him mumble, "fucking terminator," as I leave.

~BDD~

I'm fucking worried as hell that we've just flicked a switch, that Michael will now cry day and night. I'm also thinking the worst. Michael likely woke up scared and lonely, crying for Daddy and I wasn't there. Sure Cas was, but Cas isn't me. This is bullshit. I'm done putting Michael through this. Michael comes to work with me end of story. No more hoo-doo doctor crap. Michael will sleep someday and 'till then, I'm just going to have to get by.

Soon as I've made all of these important life decisions, Michael stops crying. I wipe his eyes and sit him next to his favorite toolbox. He sniffles and takes a couple shuddery breaths and looks up to me with watery eyes…he's fucking smiling, huh? I don't fucking get three-year-olds, I don't get them, I just don't.

"You okay now, Michael?"

"Yeah. We can fix cars now, Daddy?"

Doesn't he need time to reflect over his heart breaking misery? Daddy _left_ , fucking left him like a stale loaf of bread waiting to be turned into breadcrumbs. How can he want to fix cars at a time like this?

I'm not going to fucking tell him no and I can't help but think that maybe I've turned into a girl. This is Cas's fault somehow. I know it. "Yeah. We can fix cars, bud."

I take him to put on his coveralls, hoping I don't fucking see Cas. I'm still pissed at him. Michael may be over this, but I'm not.

I think Michael and I are going to work on Roy Eddison's truck, but Michael, my new foreman, tells me how it's going to go. "No, Daddy. You fix it. I got's to arrange the wrenches first."

"Oh. Sorry. Forgot."

"That's okay, Daddy."

I'm confused. _So_ fucking confused. Cas is still gone.

I work and things feel normal again. I felt lost all day, looking for Michael, wondering about him, missing him. Now, he's where I can see him, sucking his soother, arranging my wrenches and talking to Ironman. I feel warm—this is good.

But then I hear what he's saying and my blood goes cold again, because I realize I was wrong.

Michael's giggling, that's right his fucking _giggling_ is what perks my ear. He thinks something is hilarious. "That lady is funny, then we walked a long, long time Irunman—is too long. Likes Daddy's car. Cas stays with me today and is sleeping in mine in Daddy's bed again. Makes Daddy a sandwich…like it Irunman. I's has fun with Cas then he takes me to see that funny lady!" he says again, giggling some more. I don't know who or what the fuck 'that funny lady is' but my son loved it.

From the sounds of it, he had an awesome day.

I'm happy he had an awesome day, but…but, well he always complains about our days together. It's either he hates that car seat, or Daddy throwed Irunman, or doesn't like that shower and crying and crying and so much crying. My whole being deflates and I feel like my soul's been sucked away.

Adding salt to my wounds, I was a fucking dick to Cas assuming the worst _again_. He just spanked me for something like that; maybe it didn't work? Maybe spanking doesn't work with me? No. I know it does. Whenever Dad whooped my ass, I was careful not to offend again a long time, but I think, fuck. Cas was too easy on me. That's gotta be it.

I'm not sure which thing to feel worse about, so I do what I do best and don't fucking feel. I still watch out for Michael and smile at him every so often. Finally Cas returns. "Cas!" Michael says happily, unwittingly making me feel worse.

"Hello my lad. Do you need me to change your diaper? You drank all that milk."

He glares at Cas. "No. Daddy does it. Later. We is fixing cars now."

Okay, that might make me feel a little better.

"Do you want to show Daddy what you made for him?"

Instead of answering Cas, he nods shyly at me. I wipe off my hands best I can and lift him to me. "You made something for me?"

"Sandwiches for Daddy and me," he says excited. Wow. He's in a good mood. The sleep I remember. My poor little boy needs sleep and it makes him better.

"That's awesome, 'cause damn am I hungry. Did you make big ones?"

"Is really big, Daddy," he assures me.

Suddenly, the warm feeling is back, my soul back, but, uh, I can barely look at Cas.

We walk to the break room where Cas already has us set up. I put Michael down and he runs to the sandwiches, climbing onto the chair. "'Mon, Daddy. C'mon."

I sit and take a big ol' bite of my sandwich, the one my son made me. It's got a shitload of mayo on it, but I don't fucking care, I take another bite and dramatize my enjoyment. "Mmmm, this is so good. You can fix cars and make sandwiches?"

"Yeah, Daddy," he says proudly starting on his own. And I can totally see it and Dean Winchester you are an idiot…Michael still fucking adores me. Like I'm the center of his universe.

I remember again Cas saying he cries with me because he's comfortable. Dammit, it's true. Kinda sucks, but it's true. _Well I'm your shoulder to cry on whenever you want, bud._

Cas tentatively sits down beside us, in front of his own sandwich. I note a few things now that I'm thinking clearer: There are croissants and coffee poured into mugs from a thermos (which I can tell just by the smell is good coffee, Cas's coffee) and Cas is wearing a fucking sweat suit. And I can't even make fun of him for it. I have to apologize but this is one of those embarrassing apologies because I totally know better, this is shit we've been through already. If only I'd just, I dunno, taken a deep breath or something. I wish I could fucking hit rewind.

"Cas I'm a dick I—"

"Please try that again, Winchester."

I know those eyes already, those are his spanking eyes and yeah, I know, I fucking deserve it. "I'm sorry, Cas. Really sorry. I jumped to conclusions again. But he was crying and it tore at my heart."

"I understand Winchester and you're extremely tired, which is why I completely forgive you. I still won't be your punching bag, and that sort of behavior will always extract a consequence, am I understood?"

"Yes, sir," I say, so he knows I know he's going to spank me later. I'm not even arguing it and hey, guess this means I've just won the bet with Sammy (always look on the bright side). I'm not necessarily looking forward to him tanning my ass, but I am liking the comfort it's already bringing. His smooth, commanding voice relaxes my raw emotions and I settle instantly. Like sex…I give myself over to it, let it happen, let Cas control the chaos ripping through me with his firm words and strong presence. Ahhh. I close my eyes and open them. I feel better already. Maybe…maybe I don't need the spanking? I decide to talk to Cas about that later.

Cas's stern demeanor relaxes and just like that, I feel it's okay to move in with my insult. "You on your way to join the Amazing Race?" I ask him, taking a bite of my awesome Michael sandwich. Michael's completely consumed eating his.

Cas laughs. "That's the best you can do? You're losing your touch, Baby and it doesn't even make sense."

I guess I'm not completely over the events of this day, he's right that wasn't my best. I wipe my eye. "Sorry, eyeball sweat," I tell him. Concerned Darth Vader is back.

"Hey Michael," he says. "I think Daddy needs help with his sandwich."

What the hell is Cas doing? Michael's not even half done his. Michael gets a serious look on his face, his 'I'm on a mission face,' and climbs across to my lap. "I will helps you Daddy. No problem dude."

I smile big, more shit he learned from me. Michael wraps his tiny hand around the sandwich I have in my hand and pulls it toward him and he manages a big bite. He snuggles his little diapered ass back toward my stomach and fits his body like a puzzle piece into mine, like he's just another piece of me. I feel his whole being sink into comfort, happy that Daddy's surrounding him.

I look up at Cas. "It really was just eyeball sweat."

"And Hugo Boss made my sweat pants."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mock knows she left many a dangling concept this chapter. That means you'll have to read on to see them resolved. ;-)


	19. Two Lions and a Cub

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to Musichealsall for her great input. Some was used in this chapter (twisted to my own devices). 
> 
> Also thanks to BellaRisa, again. I heart you. There's a little something in here for you...I think you'll know what it is.
> 
> Sorry for mistakes...I'll go through and get rid of them tomorrow...Mock needs sleep ;-)

I'm bagged by the end of work. Michael helped me 'till the end of the day, refusing to leave my side, but I still got a lot done.

Cas has been observing me closer than usual and when the end of the day draws nearer, he chucks his head to the side, asking me to come closer without words. I wipe my hands and scoop up Michael. "Hey, Daddy. I was playing with those," he complains, squishing his eyebrows together and what'd'ya know? He does look me when he does that. That's my surly boy.

"It's time to get cleaned up, we're going home."

"O- _kay_ ," he says like he's put upon. He's been far more talkative today, but he is getting tired; his sleeping schedule is so messed up.

When I reach Cas, he kisses my lips then pulls me to him and says quietly in my ear, "I think it's best you stay home tomorrow, Winchester."

It doesn't sound like he's asking, but this time, before I assume the worst, I take a deep breath and recall some of what he's said. He only makes decisions that benefit me, he's not just trying to be a bossy asshole, (clearly my wording and not his) he's worried about me. "Yeah, okay," I say reluctantly. "I'll just tell Bobby."

The smile I get from him makes it worth it.

I have to bring Michael, my new shadow, with me to talk to Bobby, and of course it's okay with Bobby and he offers (again) for me to have a few more days off while I'm getting things settled with Michael. This time, I don't decline it right away thinking I could discuss it with Cas. The thought alone is pacifying—somehow (and in a short time), it's become okay for me to lean on Cas for decision-making.

Before long we're heading toward the Impala. "Do you mind if we stop at the mall on the way home?" Cas says.

"Aw, Cas. The mall? Really?"

"You need a stroller Winchester."

I know I do, but I hate the freaking mall and I'm tired. "Can't we go tomorrow?"

"You'll need one for tomorrow. You and Michael can wait in the car, I'll go in myself," he says.

"Sold! Man, you really do love me, Cas."

"I do Winchester."

I pull up to the mall parking lot and give Cas my bankcard—I trust he won't away to Mexico with my funds—and kick back behind the driver's seat, waiting with Michael. "What we doing Daddy?"

"Waiting for Cas. Did you have fun with Cas today?"

"Yeah and Irunman too."

I spend the next twenty minutes rehashing his day with him while we wait for Cas and I even have him giggling.

Cas knocks on the window and I pop the trunk for him. "Where were you, Cas?" Michael asks, even though I already told him.

"I bought you a stroller with Daddy's money," he says handing me my bankcard and leaning in for a kiss from me. "I hate to do this to you baby, but if you want me to stay another night we've got to swing by my place, it's not far."

"No problem," I say even though I'm exhausted. I'm sure Cas'll let me sleep when we finally do get back to my place. Fact: he'll send me to bed. There's something nice about that. Once again, Michael and I wait in the car while he runs in. Cas lives in what looks like a fairly snazzy condo, if the building is anything to go by, not too far from his Coffee Shop.

"We is waiting again Daddy? What's taking so long?"

"Not much longer, bud. You hungry?" That's a stupid question; Michael's always hungry.

"I'm so hungry, Daddy. I'm gonna eat lots, like Daddy."

"Like Daddy? Daddy's been on a diet, since a walking, talking garburator came to live with him," I say, mostly to myself. I reach into the diaper bag, where I stashed a couple of the extra croissants and give him one…and I have another one too. Even Michael's done his by the time Cas gets back.

"Sorry baby, had to make a quick phone call, but I'm ready now."

Cas is looking a little worse for wear. He looks like he could use a little sleep too. Is he planning on staying up with me again tonight? If he does, we'll never survive—both of us on too little sleep. In the meantime, there's something I can do to give us both a load off. "We're ordering Chinese tonight, my treat Cas."

"Sounds good Winchester."

~BDD~

It's the end of the night and Michael's in bed. We followed routine when we got home, me sleeping a bit before dinner, Cas hung with Michael then ordered a truckload of Chinese, we kept Michael up as long as we could, hoping he'll stay asleep from exhaustion. His body's gotta cut out at some point, right?

Cas and I are likely going to hit the hay too, but apparently we have a matter to attend to, I know what that means, I foolishly thought Cas had forgotten all about it. "We need to talk, Dean."

Uh, oh? Dean? This sounds serious.

"I'm talking about Michael, Dean we'll get to your spanking momentarily."

The way he says that so factual-like, makes my cheeks burn. We're sitting at the kitchen table this time. "Uh," I clear my throat and shift in my seat a little. "What about Michael? Everything okay?"

"Yes, actually. I think you'll like most of what I have to say."

Only most? I want to flip out, but I remember to give Cas the benefit of the doubt. I haven't really disliked anything Cas has said, so far.

"I think Michael is going to be just fine, but he's grieving, I don't think you can look forward to sleep anytime soon, Dean. I don't think his feelings are absent during the day, but for whatever reason, the worst of it happens at nighttime."

Now I see why he was so serious—that's some bad news to break to someone who's fucking tired and it makes me feel more helpless. He must see me deflate. "There may be a reason, there may not, it doesn't matter, the answer's still the same; we've got to create structure for him."

"I've been trying Cas, but it's hard with work. I know he stayed with you today, but I don't think he'll stay with anyone else and hell Cas, even I'm not ready to go through what happened that first day, again. Not yet."

"I'm not suggesting you do that. I agree, he's not ready for others yet—it needs to be one of us with him at all times."

"Oh thank God. Does that mean you're going to help me?"

"Of course, baby."

"But how will that work Cas? You need sleep—one of us needs sleep."

"Agreed again and I'd like to give you nights off, where you could sleep, but I don't think Michael will let us do that quite yet, however, he can come to work with me, half days, we'll meet up with you late afternoon. It will be good for him and he'll see he can be away from Daddy and that Daddy will still be there at the end of the day."

"That'll be hard, worked sucked without him, but I'll get more done. That's a good idea, Cas. You'd really do that for me?"

"Anything, Winchester."

I smile reach across the table and grab his hand. "I was also thinking," he takes a deep breath. "That maybe you'd consider going down to four days—just for a little while, 'till Michael's starting to sleep at night," he adds quickly before I can flip out. "You need more sleep than you've been getting Dean. You won't last."

"Sorry, Cas. I can't do that." I shake my head.

"I guess considering working half days is out too?"

"Totally out."

"Half day Fridays?"

"No."

"Are you going to offer anything up on this topic?"

I scrub my face in both hands and look at the ceiling for an answer. He's doing his best and I'm being difficult. "I would Cas, I'm not trying to be difficult on purpose, but I need the money."

"Have you forgotten about your raise?"

"No, but that'll barely put me ahead."

"This is a hard call for me to make, because I don't know your finances, but Dean, I can't let you go on like this, not as your Head of House. Can you understand that?"

I nod because I get this stuff enough to know that: He finds my behavior destructive to my person, allowing it to continue is irresponsible due his role in our relationship, the role I gave him, which means, "you're going to say I have to pick one, aren't you Cas?"

"It's just for a short time Dean. I think the psychologist is going to help Michael. I wouldn't even suggest it if I thought it would be long term. I swear it will barely make a dent in his Neurosurgery Music school fund."

At least he knows me well enough not to suggest he give me money. Actually, he's hasn't done that at all. He didn't even argue about who would pay for the stroller, he just took my bankcard and when I sprung for the Chinese food, all he said was "thank you Winchester," in that gravely voice of his. Huh. Even thought he's setting particular boundaries, he's really considering me; respecting my particulars. I can tell this topic is hard for him, he's being patient when he just wants to tell me to do the one he feels is best for me. "We can put a time limit on it if that will make you feel better," he says when I still haven't answered.

"Okay Cas, how long?"

"Four weeks."

That's hard, but doable. "Okay, four weeks."

"Which option do you chose? Or do you have another suggestion?"

"No. Yours are good, Cas." If I'm going to try this, I might as well really try this DD stuff. I take a deep breath. "Can you pick? I'd really like it if you picked." There's a lot going on in my mind over this decision. I don't feel I'm in the right frame of mind right now to really pick what's best for me—I'm too tired and there's been too many balls in the air. The other thing I'm thinking, I want to see what Cas picks and what he thinks is best for me. Clearly I'd pick the easiest one: Half day Fridays. Will he pick that one because he knows what I'll be most comfortable with?

"Okay, but once I chose there's no going back, are you sure?"

"Positive."

"I think half days is the best option for _both_ you and Michael. We can establish some structure in the form of getting up, eating breakfast, taking him to work, coming home early to nap, you'll even have some time together before dinner. It's not optimal sleep, but it's enough for now. I know the psychologist will get him to do exercises to help him talk about his mom. She'll ask for your participation, but I think it's best she does that—I can help you on this end."

Hmm. Interesting. I do like that he picked the best choice for Michael too. "Will he get to come to the shop too? There doesn't seem to be time in there for him to fix cars." That's important to Michael.

"I think so long as we keep to the same schedule everyday, we can take turns having him come to work with us. You can even bring him to work in the morning with you and drop him off on your lunch. He can be with me 'till two and I'll drop him to your house after that. Sound good?"

"Sounds perfect Cas." It's funny how just having a plan is relieving.

"Good, now that's settled we can move to the next topic," he says and Cas' spanking eyes are back.

"About that Cas, I think I'm good for a spanking."

"You're…good for a spanking? What's that supposed to mean, Winchester?"

I take it he doesn't agree. "The feeling I got from the spanking—"

"Just last night on the same topic."

Was it really just last night? "Uh, yeah what you said. Well I got that same feeling just from the idea you were going to spank me. I don't think I need the actual spanking itself."

I can tell by his eyes, Cas is trying to hold back laughter. "What's so funny about what I said?"

"I've heard some excuses in my time, from a brat trying to talk their way out of a spanking, but this takes the cake, Winchester."

"I'm serious Cas. I felt the same this afternoon as I did last night. Your tone alone calmed me—there were already several times I wanted to flip out, but I took a breath and handled each situation in a more respectful manner."

"That's good news for your bottom, Winchester, but I promise you, you still need me to deliver on the consequence."

"I don't think you do."

"If I don't, the magic of domestic discipline is removed. You felt as you did, because I demonstrated last night that I follow through. That's what creates the feeling of safety—knowing I'm going to take care of it."

"I don't think so, I already felt the feeling."

"This time. Domestic discipline is also about accountability, there should be punishment for broken rules, every time, or it doesn't work—it's important for you to know that the boundaries we've created are secured. You need me to follow through every time, you need to know I mean what I say, or you won't feel so safe, you'll end up pushing me until I do punish you."

"What? No I won't." That's what Sam said, from his book.

"Sadly I can see you're going to need to learn this the hard way. Okay Winchester, I'm not going to spank you tonight, but I am going to clarify that respect is a rule, since you seem to need the more ridged clarification."

"Fine with me."

"And when you brat out and earn another punishment, I'm punishing you twice."

"What like a double or nothing?"

"This isn't a bet, it's an inevitability."

"You're on, two spankings if I lose."

Cas sighs. "This isn't about you losing, Winchester, it's, well you'll see and I decide what the _punishments_ are and I think it's time you learned there are more punishments than just spanking. Only one punishment will be spanking—the other will be something else."

"Like what?"

"That's going to depend on what you do. I like lines myself, but I think that would be particularly cruel considering you're already short on time. I could assign you several short bouts of corner time—that's good for reflecting…maybe loss of TV privileges…"

"Okay, I get the picture, Cas." None of that sounds good.

We stare at each other across the table. I rub my thumb over his hand, he does a perfunctory 'check me out' that he doesn’t think I notice, but believe me, I notice and he can check me out anytime he wants. "So…what do we do now? There's a little time before bedtime." This (our plan) is going to work. I like having extra time left over at the end of the day to just, be, with Cas.

"I never assigned you a bedtime, Winchester."

"You have so. Don't think I haven't noticed, Cas. You look at the clock like concerned Darth Vader when it ticks toward nine-thirty."

"Concerned Darth Vader? Do I want to know?"

"Probably not. It's okay though. It can uh, be a rule—I'll go to bed when you tell me, I think that's the only way I'll go to bed when you're here and I _will_ pin it on you if I'm not abed by a reasonable hour."

"Winchester…did you just make your first rule?"

"Maybe."

"You did," he sighs happily. "It shall be as you wish—but when you don't like it, remember you asked for it. Now get your ass over here."

That's an order I don't need twice. I'm in his lap in seconds, mauling his face with my tongue. Cas moans into my mouth and I'm enjoying, I really am, but a tiny flash of today, when I was a dick, beams into my brain. How can he be so nice, when I'm such a dick? Still feel bad about it, I guess.

Fuck it, I said sorry, he said he forgives me—we're all good right?

Good.

"Should we move this somewhere more comfortable?" I waggle my eyebrows hopefully.

Instead of answering me, he stands abruptly; dumping me off his lap then catches me. He pulls me back to his face and we're kissing, kissing, kissing again. I pull Cas with me, then slam him into the wall in the entryway of the kitchen. He spins me and slams me around the doorway and into the living room. Normally I'd be right into a guy's pants by this point, but Cas and I been taking it slow on the sex stuff. My cock is hard though and consequently, it's getting harder to not want Cas to touch it. Fuck, I want him.

"Cas, we'd…we'd better stop, otherwise I won't be able to," I say coming up for air.

"Stop? Who says we're stopping, baby?"

I pull away shocked.

"There's plenty of time before bedtime, Winchester," he smiles. It makes me feel warm—all of it. Having someone hold me accountable is nice. Except, huh, it's weird, I feel the warmth, but it's like having a blanket wrapped around you that won't cover your feet, so you're mostly warm, but some cool air is still getting in. This is definitely not how I felt last night. I wonder why? Maybe the feeling is like caffeine? It has less effect over time? Or is _this_ what Cas was talking about when he said him not spanking me would break the DD spell? No. Cas can't be right about everything. He just can't be.

We tumble our way to the floor. I do have an extra bed upstairs in the guest bedroom, sorta. It's a large futon that only Sam seems to be able to sleep on comfortably. I prefer the couch to it personally, I don't like waking up with spina bifida, but it's large enough for the giant, it would definitely be large enough to fuck on—'cept I don't think either of us have the patience for stairs right now.

I push his shirt up, the baggy blue hoodie he was wearing got ditched earlier, and suck on his stomach, right where his waist meets with his ribcage. He sucks in a shuddery breath and I chuckle. "You ticklish, Cas?"

"A little, but I don't advise—"

Too late. I brush my lips lightly over the same spot and he's laughing, contracting the muscle there, trying to stop me—Cas is ticklish as hell! "That's it, Winchester." With surprising speed and ease, he's able to flip me on my back and straddle my torso. Everything pauses there as he looks down at me, arrested, staring at me several moments before he says, "you're perfect Winchester, exactly the way you are and I love you."

"I love you too Cas, now will you bend me over my couch and fuck me like you keep promising?"

"Oh, I'm going to do more than that, be right back."

"Be right back?"

"Condoms and lube."

Oh and apparently, he's got them in his backpack. "Did you plan this?"

"Not exactly, I just like to be prepared, but honestly, I was hoping."

I palm at my cock in my pants. "Thank Christ, 'cause this monkdom is really for the birds, I don't even advise it for monks." They are still dudes with penises. It can't be easy.

He sets the condoms and lube on the coffee table, and we're caught up in staring at each other again. Jesus, is this what being in love is like? Cas pulls me to him by the waistband of my sweats then slowly begins pushing them down as he gets to his knees. "Wow, Winchester. This is better than expected," he says when sets eyes on my cock for the first time, ripe with pre-cum beading out of it and believe me, there's nothing better you can say to a dude.

Then, he fucking swallows it. "Oh, God, oh God, Cas…" I almost whine coming up on my toes for just a second.

"You taste good baby," he adds popping off then sliding his tongue back down the head. My eyes roll back and my hand slides through his messy mop of hair as his hot mouth consumes my dick.

It's been awhile _for me_ , but even if it hadn't, Cas does something to me and I'm already building close to climax. "Cas, I'm gonna come if you keep that up, Baby."

He pops his head off, "can't have that, I want you to come with my cock inside you." He slides my pants the rest of the way down and helps me take them off, leaving me in my t-shirt. "Hey, I think we need to even the score here," I complain. He laughs and takes his shirt off. "Not what I meant, Cas."

"You'll get to see soon enough, Winchester." He yanks me over to the couch and pushes me down roughly, which makes my groin pulse. It's nice to know Cas can't wait either, I'm loving seeing him lose control. It's not long before I feel a slick wet finger at my entrance, I widen my stance to accommodate him, sticking my round ass out further. I have a pretty awesome ass, I give Cas a good viewing. When his finger slides in, I push back, eager, needy.

"That's it Baby, you like my finger in there?"

"Fuck yeah, Cas." I keen back as he adds another, fucking his fingers, opening for him. "You'd better get your cock in there, this isn't going to be long."

Then, I feel the head of what's probably a ginormous condom wrapped cock (is Cas fucking hung? of course he is) and wonder if maybe I spoke too soon. But Cas is careful and slow as he slides into me for the first time. There's lots of lube, so the path is greased well, I bear down until he bottoms out. He scrapes his hands up my torso, pushing my shirt up and exposing my back, which he sucks on as he hugs himself to me. "God, I've wanted you for so long, Winchester."

Like a fucking love-sick sap, I enjoy having him inside of me, being joined and feeling his thick cock, heavy in my ass. He pulls back slow then it's another careful slide back in, slow out, slow in, until I'm open wide and gliding his cock becomes easy and faster, rapid.

Cas grabs on, digging his fingers into my skin, ramming his cock into me, his nuts slapping against my ass. I widen my stance again, to brace myself better, for the punishing pace Cas is setting. Fuck is all I keep repeating over and over. It feels so god damned good, Cas's dick pounding my prostate, Cas's hands, gripping my ribcage, Cas's breath hot in my ear.

I come without even touching my dick once after Cas's warm up blowjob and Cas follows shortly behind me. "Fuck that was intense Cas," I say as I collapse over the couch. He pulls out and slides the condom off behind me as I stand up and turn to face him. He wraps the used condom in a Kleenex from the side table and leaves it there for now, so he can pull me into his arms and tug me down on the couch with him.

We have to shift around a bit to get comfortable, but once we do (sorta, there's only so comfortable two men can get on a sofa) we twine our naked legs around other and I lay on his chest. That's right everyone, Dean Winchester is cuddling after sex and loving it.

"I'm sorry for that, Dean. But I just had to have you."

"What are you sorry for Cas? That was awesome."

"I would have liked to have been face to face for the first time, instead of rutting like lions."

"I'm not a chick, Cas. I prefer rutting like lions, that was hot. We are so doing that again."

"As do I and I still want to make love to you, properly."

"Uh, hate to break it to you, Cas, but this is how it's going to have to be for awhile. It's not like we have a bed of our own."

"We'll figure something out, Winchester."

We lay there for some time, basking in the sweaty afterglow of our lion rutting and I'm just about to suggest another round, when Cas speaks. "Okay, Winchester. Bedtime."

"Bedtime? But I don't have work tomorrow," I complain and pout up at him, hoping that makes a difference. It doesn't.

"And you still have plenty of sleep to catch up on."

In case I should think to argue with that, his hand reaches around to pat my bare bottom; it's affectionate for the moment, but it's still a warning. Part of me wants to see if he'll do it. "All right, all right. Jeez you're strict, Cas."

He kisses my forehead. "You love it, Winchester."

I sigh into him squeezing his torso tight. "Yeah…I do."

~BDD~

Once again, I'm grateful for Cas's strict-ass, guidance—going to bed early was wise, left up to me, I would have opted for another round (or five) of sex, maybe even an episode of Archer as the cherry on top, but we went to bed and now it's one am, Michael wakes up, but it's different this time. Just a little.

He's crying, but it's not terrible, gut wrenching sobs, it's something more akin to 'regular' sobs. It's still loud though and I know he's still in pain even if he may not know it. "Daddy?" says his wavery, sad little voice.

I rub my eyes (feels like my eyelids are fucking sandpaper). "Yeah, bud?"

"I has a bottle?"

He's never asked like that before, not at night, only in the day—that's gotta be good, right?. I hear Cas stir. "'Course," I tell Michael. "You want to come with me? Or stay with Cas?"

"You."

"You okay, Winchester?"

"Yeah, we're good, Cas. Sleep."

"Okay. Let me know if you need anything."

I bring crying Michael downstairs, making him up a bottle one handed while he cries into my shoulder, trying to bounce him and coo at him a bit. I even try singing the 'Goes to Sleep Michael' song (the one I'm pretty sure Nicky made for him—yeah, that's how you know I'm desperate), but he cries.

Dad told us, that when Mom died, I developed a stutter for a short while (Sammy still fucking teases the shit outta me for it—dick) and he worried about me, probably like how I worry about Michael. I haven't thought about that in a long time, but tonight it comes to mind. I'll bet he thought about all the things I'm thinking now: Will my kid ever get better? Why did my kid get handed this card? It's not fair for little boys to lose their moms.

There was a story Dad used to tell me. He'd get me to repeat it after him, trying to get me to say the words stutter-free. He was sure I didn't have any sort of an impediment; it was the loss of mom, according to him; my upset was making me stutter and when he got my mind off it, he said the words flowed like taffy. The story he told stared me of course, but also him and Sam. We'd drive around in the Impala, saving people, hunting things. I was always looking up to Dad like a hero, like Michael does me, so the story fit. _Eventually the stutter went away. You got better Winchester. Michael will too._

I don't have a rocking chair down here and I don't want to disturb Cas, so I sit us on the couch, Michael gladly accepts his bottle, his little hands latching on, his lips open around the nipple, eyes carefully watching me.

"You want Daddy to tell you a story?" I say on impulse—I'm a terrible fucking story teller. He considers a moment, then nods slowly.

"Once there was a boy named Michael." I wipe away his tears, my large hard dwarfs his tiny face. "Michael and Daddy did all kinds of things together." I get a big fucking smile from him, so I know I've hit the jackpot.

"First, they went to a park and threw rocks at a playground."

He pops the bottle out of his mouth, his eyes telling me the importance of what he's about to say, creasing between his brow, like mine does (he does that a lot). "Sucks, playground." He pops the bottle back in.

I can't help smiling. "Yeah, that playground sucked balls. Daddy and Michael had better things to do than waste their time around that shady joint, so they decided to go fix some cars."

"Only Daddy and me fixes cars," he tells me seriously. "Not Cas."

"That's right. Cas doesn't even know where the wiper fluid goes." I don't know if he knows what that means, but it renews his smile. "Then Michael and Daddy went on an adventure to the shopping mall where they bought clothes and a ton of crap that dipped into Michael's school fund." Even though I'm talking utter nonsense, Michael's captivated. He doesn't care where this story goes (P.S. it's going nowhere) so long as we're doing things together in it. It's become more of a trip down memory lane versus a story anyway.

"And how about the day Ironman showed up? You liked that day."

Michael looks around. "Where's Irunman?"

Fuck. _Way to go Winchester._ I forgot Ironman upstairs. This story thing was going well, but I had to go and mention 'he-who-must-not-be-named.' Truth be told, I noticed we didn't have Ironman part way down the stairs, but I foolishly hoped I could get him back to sleep without him noticing. I really didn't want to bother Cas again. _Quick. Think of something quick._

"Ironman's with Cas. You don't want Cas all alone and unprotected do you?"

I can see him thinking about that and I really don't think he's going to buy it, but then he says, "Irunman protects, Cas?"

"Yep."

"He's by himself?"

"By himself."

"Okay, Daddy. Irunman protects Cas. We loves Cas."

Holy crap. This is huge! Wait 'till I tell Cas who just made Michael's Ironman list! "What's Daddy and Michael do next?" he asks.

"Whatever we want, son." I tousle his hair and push it back off his face. "Do you want to hear about the time Daddy and Michael met Cas?"

He nods, sucking on his bottle. For once, I feel like father of the fucking year, instead of high-school dropout; this is the most content Michael's ever been on a night with me and I did it. I got him to calm down.

"It was a day just like any other and our heroes had, but one mission: Get coffee and croissants from the evil, but gorgeous, sarcastic man…"


	20. No Other Way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go. Long chapter. Big chapter. Sorry for mistakes, I didn't edit so much. Had a busy w/e and really wanted to get this out for yah! 
> 
> GUW is half done and on its way. 
> 
> I've got 3 chapters for Mock's Original work mostly edited, just got to make a few fixes, so at least you can have that to read while I work on the others. Just so you don't worry, the Original is a complete work. All I'm doing is editing it. It doesn't take time away from my other works, so much as it helps my brain when I'm stuck on a part in these stories... M'kay?
> 
> Enjoy!

The night with Michael was a little better, but not by much. He went back to sleep, but he woke up crying two more times. Cas insisted we wake him up for breakfast, which Michael was not happy about, let me tell you, but I know Cas is right. We should get him on some kind of schedule, the routine will make him feel safe.

We're at the breakfast table. Michael's sulkily working on some eggs, his hair's messy, he's still in his pajamas and Irunman is next to him, soother by his plate. I'm sulking a little too, Cas has just announced he's got to run into to work for a few hours. "This was not part of our plans last night, Cas. I thought we were going to get the day together," I complain.

"Yeah, together," Michael says, probably with no idea what we're talking about, or why I'm complaining, but wanting to show Daddy solidarity.

"I'll be back in a couple of hours Winchester. I'm sorry, I completely forgot I had this shipment coming in, I have to be the one to receive and sign off on it."

I understand, really I do. I'm a grown man with a job of my own, I get work on so many levels, but all I want is for him to stay home with us and ditch work. "Why don't you both come with me?" he suggests.

"Naw, we're good." It's a brush off. He knows it a brush off. Cas is unimpressed. I back pedal. "I mean, I was thinking Michael and I could have a relaxing morning here. Then we can try that walking you love so much and come by the Coffee Shoppe to pick you up. We'll get to use the new stroller."

Remember how I always used to call Cas stupid? He's not stupid, unfortunately for me. My behavior is irritating him. I know it, I'm being a dick, pretty much whining because I don't want him to go to work. He's about to say something about it, here it comes…

"I approve, Winchester."

That's it? 'I approve Winchester?' I can't help but be a little, disappointed. I expected in the least a: 'I approve, but only because relaxing then walking to meet me, will give you time to think about the thin ice you're walking on.' Something like that.

There's something fun about thin ice though that makes my heart race and my insides tingle. Riding that edge, the 'I'd better head back before I reach the point of no return sign.' But he didn't do that. "Whether you 'approve' or not that's what we're doing. We'll be there around noon." There. That's gotta buy me at least a: 'Careful, Winchester.'

"Noon is fine."

Oh.

I check his face. He's playing with me, right? I mean I can see he's clearly annoyed, but he's not saying a thing about it. Makes me want to ask him why he's not spanking me right now, which is ridiculous. Shouldn't I want to 'get away with stuff?'

I leave it ('cause I don't want Cas to spank me, do I?) but something doesn't feel right. "Daddy, I can play with my toys?" Michael asks after he's finally finished breakfast.

"Yeah, bud." I look at Cas amazed. That's the first time he's wanted to go off on his own. Sure it's in the house, but it's still on his own.

Cas smiles. "See? He'll get better on his own time, Baby."

I offer to load the dishwasher, and clean up the kitchen, while Cas gets ready for work and check on Michael in between. He's playing, so nice on his own. I'm proud of him.

When it's time for Cas to leave, we're like every white picket fence family, Michael and I walk Cas out the door and wave goodbye, watching him walk down the street. I offered him a ride, but he really likes walking. I miss him already. "Should we go make ourselves pretty?" I ask Michael.

"No Daddy. We can fix cars?"

"Fix cars? I thought today was our day off?" I remember that the Impala could use an oil change. It would be fun for Michael and I have to have our first father-son work on Baby moment together. "Okay. We'll work on Daddy's car today, big guy."

"Needs our coveralls, Daddy."

Damn. I don't have a pair for Michael at home. I'll have to change that, but for today, I'll have to improvise. "I got other stuff for us, bud."

I dress us both in some clothes that I don't care about. His are the ones he'd already got greasy the first day and mine are just an old t-shirt and sweats. I don't bother with doing Michael's hair or mine and leave them both floppy messes. We're just working on cars.

I open the garage, turn on some music and we get to work. Basically, it's just like at the shop, but at home and for no money. It doesn't even dawn on me 'till halfway through: Should I have asked Cas if I could do this? I don't think so, but we did agree on no work for today; does this count?

Nah. Not likely. It's totally different. It's just an oil change, it's causal and besides, if I get in trouble, I can throw my son under the bus and tell Cas Michael wanted to do it. In the least this is sure to get me a famous Cas scolding line, a concerned Darth Vader look. It'll be worth it. Huh. I can't believe I'm looking _forward_ to that.

My phone rings part way through my thoughts on this and I fucking jump thinking it's Cas phoning to tell me he owes me a spanking. I'm relieved when it's Sam. I check to see where Michael is. He and Ironman are making a fucking mess of my toolbox. I don't mind if he sorts through that one, his hands are bound to get dirty, but there's less in my toolbox as compared to the shop's and I know there's nothing in there I feel uncomfortable with him playing with. Keeping my eyes on him, I answer. "Heya Sammy."

"Hey Dean."

"Did you call to let me know when you're bringing the ten bucks you owe me by?"

"Ten bucks?"

"Our bet. I won."

"You did?"

"Yep. Cas totally wanted to spank me yesterday and I didn't complain about it at all. And I didn't _push_ him into it."

"Sorry, Dean I don't follow at all. If he wanted to spank you, isn't that you pushing?"

"No. I practically asked him to," I exaggerate. "I was a dick, even I knew it."

"Wow. Okay Dean, guess I owe you a tenner. Gotta say, I'm impressed and I'm sorry I assumed you were a brat. I know I shouldn't ask you this, tell me to fuck off if you need to, but…uh…how was it? Are you like, sore?"

"Sore? Oh no, I didn't actually get spanked, you see. Cas and I decided I didn't really need one. The 'threat' of it was enough. I felt the same talking about it as I did when he's actually done it." You know what's weird? How not weird it feels to talk with him about this.

There's silence on the other end of the phone for a minute, then he starts laughing. Know everything I said a second ago? Scratch it all. Things just got weird. "What are you laughing at me for Sammy?"

"Sorry Dean, I don't mean to laugh at you, but…let me get this straight, he didn't spank you?"

"No."

"So how did you win our bet?"

"I didn't have to push him into anything. It was this conversation you see and—"

"One you didn't get spanked at the end of."

Now I'm just fucking confused, but I don't feel like I lost the bet really; I also don't feel like I won. "Fine. You don't think this qualifies? How about we go for a double or nothing?"

"I'll take that bet. From what I've read this is classic Brat behavior, my chances of being twenty dollars richer have just increased."

"All right, you're on." Now I have two double or nothing bets. If anything, with more skin in the game, I'm apt to be a perfect angel. Speaking of angels. "What are you doing Michael?"

"'Ranging Daddy's toolbox."

"Good boy, don't eat anything."

"What's he doing?" Sam asks.

"Selling car parts on eBay."

Sam laughs. "I can't help it Dean, I'm saying it; you're a good Daddy. You still taking him to work with you?"

"Yeah, but we're working from home today – we're both exhausted, Cas thought it was a good idea."

"I'm proud of you for that too Dean. I'm glad you finally let someone help you."

"Quit it with the touch-feely crap Sam, I have a daily quota and you've far exceeded it."

"Yeah, yeah. Anyway, I should go, but just wanted to figure out tomorrow."

"You can text me that shit, Sammy. You wanted to see if Cas spanked me, admit it."

"I did want to see if I won the bet, and see if you wanted to know about anything else in the book, but since I've got you, it starts at eleven. Should we just meet there?"

"Yeah." I would ask him more about what he's read, but after this conversation, I'm beginning to doubt that I really do get what Sam and I talked about yesterday. _One topic at a time._

When I get off the phone, I check on Michael again. It looks like he's operating on Ironman. "Hey, you gonna help me over here, or what?"

"Yeah, Daddy." He gets up by putting his greasy hands on the ground and pushing himself up, then wiping his little hands together. He's so flipping cute. "I can do it, Daddy."

"Thank Christ. Daddy forgot how."

"No. Did not."

I laugh. "I did. Show me where the oil goes?"

I already emptied the old oil, that's the hard part, the messiest part. Michael can help me pour the new stuff in via a funnel and me to guide him. "Right there, Daddy." He points to the exact oil local – I've got a smart boy. And a greasy boy. He's got grease all in his hair and over his face from playing in the toolbox.

"Good job, Grease Monkey," I say trying to get the grease off his face with a rag.

"Daddy? Love you."

Okay, maybe I haven't reached my touchy-feely quota, or maybe I should qualify that to 'brotherly touchy-feely quota,' 'cause hearing that from Michael? I could hear that all fucking day and it wouldn't be enough. "Love you too, bud."

The three of us (Michael, Ironman and I) go inside and now I have to clean us, but least we've got enough time it can be a bath instead of the shower Michael hates.

When we get upstairs to the bedroom, I freeze for a sec. The window's open – then I remember that has to have been Cas. He must have left it open when he came up here to change.

I have a thing about open doors and windows. Ask Sam. Growing up, having to look after Sam alone when I was really young, I became paranoid early on about that shit. I always made sure all the doors and windows were tightly secured. Not that I never open a window to let air in, but I'm cognizant as fuck about that kinda stuff. All open windows and doors are accounted for in my head. I know I didn't leave that fucking window open.

I shake my head and close it. "Daddy, no shower okay?"

"No shower. We're having a bath, we can't be all greasy when we go see Cas." I start undressing Michael and I'm down to his diaper, when I swear I hear the fucking door to the house shut. Cas has the extra key and Sam also has his own key, but neither of them being here makes any sense. "Stay here bud," I tell Michael and hope he listens to me, 'cause I've gotta move fast; whoever was dumb enough to come into my fucking house is clearly just leaving out the door.

I sprint down the stairs, the door (always locked) is closed but unlocked, someone definitely went out of it. I open it, almost tearing it off its hinges and look out to an empty fucking street. I'm pissed though. It wasn't Cas or Sam, I know that much, it was someone and they came into my house unin-fucking-vited.

"Daddy! Uh-huh…uh-huh…Daddy!"

Fuck. Michael crying. I sprint back up the fucking stairs as if my life depends on it. Rationally, I know whoever was just in my house couldn't be up there, but I run like there is. Michael's on the floor crying in a ball in just his diaper, his soother's on the floor and poor Ironman's getting the shit kicked out of him. Michael's smashing him against the floor, his little fist punching him as Ironman hits the ground.

"Daddy! Daddy!"

"C'mere, big guy. Daddy didn't leave." He's not saying it, but I know he's thinking it. I scoop him off the ground and he clings to me and I know immediately, my awesome morning with Michael is effectively fucked because of whatever douchebag decided to run through my fucking house. When I find out who it was (because I will) they're double dead for making me have to leave Michael alone and making him cry.

"Sc-scared, Daddy," he tells me crying into my shirt.

"I know bud, but you don't have to be. Daddy will punch whatever you want me to."

"Punch?" he says. That gets his attention and halts his sobs.

"Yeah. Like this." I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to teach three-year-olds to punch things, but if it empowers him and makes him feel better, hell if I get a laugh out of him, I'm fucking doing it. I grab one of the pillows off the bed and lay a decent punch to it. "Pow! Take that pillow man!"

Michael giggles. "I can try, Daddy?"

"Yep."

Michael pulls back, winding up with all his might and lays a punch on the pillow. The impact is definitely not proportionate to the wind up, but it makes him fucking happy as hell. "Pow!" he says.

"Pow!" I say.

"Pow!"

"Pow!"

We both keep punching the pillow until I think he's feeling better then I get us into the bath.

As I'm pulling us out and drying us off (Michael complaining he doesn't want to get out) I send Cas a text. _Did you leave the bedroom window open?_ I know he had to of, but I'm being nice. Our little intruder would have had to break the window, because I always lock it and that's not the case. I'm not really mad at Cas – I've had windows open during the day too, I'm sure he's already picked up on my neurotic door and window locking, he would have assumed I'd go around and locked everything up.

I get the reply as I'm diapering Michael. _Are you kidding me? I know how neurotic you are about such things. You on your way?_

What the fuck? Cas wouldn't lie. Worry pools in my fucking gut. _Yeah, we'll be there soon._ I'll tell him what happened in person. I envision us both turning this place into Fort Knox by nightfall.

It's when I reach for the stuff to do our hair I see something new. It's a brush. A small wooden, kid's hairbrush with soft bristles. Someone broke into my house to leave this? I pick it up like it's a time bomb about to go off, but as I inspect it I get the impression it's a really good one. It even says 'made in Germany' on the label. I think it's made of beach wood. "What the fuck?" I say again, this time out loud. I'd better take this with me to show Cas.

I think I'm finally home free, I've got the diaper bag all set up, fed Michael a snack, managed to get cranky Michael's shoes on him, made sure we remembered Ironman, but now I've got to figure out his fucking stroller. Michael's already fucking pissy (he's wearing the Dean scowl) because he's getting tired already (I'm hoping he'll fall asleep in the stroller) and by the look on his face, he already 'doesn't like that seat.'

But he's not quite complaining yet because Daddy's standing in the middle of the drive way, fucking figuring out how the locking mechanisms work to prevent it from folding back up again and I haven't put him in it yet. I can disassemble and reassemble any car engine blindfolded, but this is a freaking mystery to me. Michael's looking fresh, but getting himself dirty playing in the rocks as I attempt to figure this out, complaining to Ironman about our morning.

I'm getting increasingly irritated with the useless thing and closer to saying we're taking the fucking Impala when I hear, "then Daddy says, fuck!" He's talking to Ironman.

His swearing is completely my fault, but I'm wrapped up in one frustration and that's just another. It's hard to stop fucking swearing out loud. I've been doing it my whole life. "Michael. Knock it off. You shouldn't be saying that." Just as I finish telling him off and am about to give up on the stroller, the latch pops and clicks easily into place. I have no idea how I did that, nor am I likely to be able to achieve such feats ever again. This stroller is never being folded back up. "Aha! Got it!"

But Michael doesn't share my joy. He's upset because I told him off. His lip pouts down and out and his eyes tear up aaaannnd he's crying again. He's reaching up for me, so I lift him and Ironman to me and end up pushing the stroller, Michael-less, all the way to the coffee shop, cooing at him and feeling like the worst father ever. It's my fault he says those words in the first place. I've got to stop saying them, least around Michael. I could make Cas's fucking year and ask for his help, or, I could just try a whole lot harder.

For now let's go with option two.

By the time I reach the shop, Michael's fast asleep on my shoulder, but my arm's about to fucking fall off. Some nice older woman holds the door open for me as I head inside with my kid and stroller. Cas is nowhere in sight, he must be behind the scenes, so I decide to try laying Michael in his stroller. I know the seat fucking leans back somehow (Cas spent a whole bunch of my money on a fancy-ass stroller), but fucked if I know how to make that happen. I sit him in the thing and like MacGyver, I ingeniously pull one of his soft blankets from his diaper bag (which I stuffed into the handy compartment just behind and underneath the stroller) and concoct a way to put it between his head and the side of the stroller, so his head doesn't loll around. Ha. Success.

My celebration is short lived. "Dean?" a woman's voice says from behind me. I stand and turn around. It's the woman from the mall when I went with Sam. Oh yeah, I gave her my card. She never called and even if she had, I would've had to blow her off. Where would I have found time to fuck her? How sexy is, hey baby, wanna come over and fuck over my couch like horny teenagers and try not to wake the baby?

Cas and I fucked over my couch, but that's different. Totally different.

"Yeah. I'm Dean." Crap. Did I get her name? I can't fucking remember. I put my hand out to shake it like we're meeting for the first time. Her stroller is empty, something I wouldn't have noticed before.

She shakes my hand. "Amy. I didn't give it before. I've been meaning to call you, but I've been busy."

Or just giving me the fucking brush off. I hate that. Bruises my Winchester ego. Makes me want to make her want me, just so I can give her the brush off. I work my charm. The Dean Winchester smile goes firmly in place. "Well Amy, that's too bad. You sure are pretty."

That makes her blush and smile. "Thank you Dean. " She pushes her tits out a little further. "I'm just on my way out, but I've got some time, this coming week. I really will call this time."

"You be sure to."

"Come on Brooklyn, sweetie. Time to go." Her daughter comes barreling out of nowhere and slams into her mom's thigh before climbing into her stroller. I find myself staring at her kid. She's such a happy little girl. Sure I'm able to pull the odd giggle and smile out of my son, but he's never that happy. Will he ever be?

It's when she's out of the shop and another weepy thought later, that I realize what I just fucking did. I was totally flirting with that chick. Hell. Apparently she's going to call me – I hope she's fucking lying again. A terrible, terrible feeling settles through me, my stomach lurches like it does when you're in a roller coaster, at the top and suddenly drops.

God damn it Winchester!

I look to see if Cas is around yet. He's not. Does he have cameras in this place? Maybe he's watching me from the back and planning just how long he's going to spank my ass for that. I don't know. The worst part is going to be telling him. I know he'll give me that look, that one that makes my stomach flip-flop.

But then I realize something else. This is a rule and a big one. As much as I'm about to upset Cas, I know this is spank-worthy, it brings me the strange sense of relief that I don't fucking understand. It won't feel nice to tell him, but man will it feel good once I do. I've been feeling strange, all morning. Cas has been acting a bit weird too. Maybe this is what we need to get us back on track.

I sit at a table and wait, unsure if I should go back there. I mean, last time I pretty much just walked on in because my son was back there, but this time I feel like going back there with a stroller is disruptive. Instead, I sit at a table and text Cas and wait. Even in sleep, my son's got an anxious look on his face and my gut tightens in yet another way than it did earlier.

Watching him sleep reminds me of how much I still need sleep. I yawn and my eyes start to close just a bit, but I shake myself awake and rub my eyes. Arms pull me backward. "Cas?" I hope.

"Hello, Winchester," he says tilting my head back and full on spider-man kissing me upside down. "Ready to go home and take a nap?"

"Yeah, but first we need to plan a fucking strategy." I tell him all about the strange break-in and show him the hairbrush I stuffed in Michael's diaper bag.

"What do you think, Cas?"

"I don't know Winchester, but this troubles me."

"I would have contacted the police, but I know from past experience they really can't do shit in this kind of situation."

"I agree. We can take our own measures – put new locks on the windows and doors."

"Yeah. Guess there's no way to keep everyone out."

"Did they take anything?"

"Not that I know of."

"At least they'll be two of us around."

"That mean you're moving in Cas?"

"Are you inviting me to move in?"

I can't answer that and end up blurting out unintelligible sputter.

Cas laughs. "It's a bit soon for that Winchester, but the look on your face," he winks. "I only meant that I'm around at times. I'm likely to have many sleepovers. I especially hope so after last night." He says that low and in my ear.

"I knew it. You just want me for my body."

"Not just, but I do want you for your body." He bites my ear. Yep, in the middle of his fucking coffee shop. He quickly pulls away. "You want anything? A few croissants for the road?"

Um, duh. That's my initial reaction anyway, but then I remember how I…well everything really. I was a dick yesterday, a cranky bitch this morning then I out right did something that's going to hurt Cas's feelings I've still yet to tell him. I don't deserve croissants…but I really want them.

"Yeah, okay," I say guiltily.

Cas moves so he's in front of me and looks me over. "What's going on?"

"I uh, have something to tell you, but could we, could it wait 'till we're out of here?"

Cas nods. "Of course, Baby. I'll be right back."

Michael's still asleep. Watching the way he holds Ironman reminds me…

"You've made the Ironman list," I tell Cas when we're walking away from his shop. "We forgot Ironman in bed the first time Michael woke up last night, he was okay to leave him with to protect you."

Cas smiles wide, his eyes wrinkle in the corners. "I think that's one of the best things anyone's ever told me."

"Hey, I told you I love you."

"Which is why I was very careful to say 'one of' the best things I've ever been told," he smirks.

"Whatever. You like that better."

"It is pretty spectacular."

"You're not even denying it."

"I want some time to bask in glory of making 'the list.' Then I'll deny it."

I laugh. I love that we're kinda goofy. "It's okay. I can be second to that. I know how it feels, I'm number one on that V.I.P list. It's pretty fucking fantastic." Shit. I wince and check to make sure Michael's still sleeping. He is. Kids can't pick up on curse words in their sleep, can they?

I expect the usual, "problem, Winchester?" 'cause I know Cas knows what I'm doing, and is dying for me to ask for his 'help' on that issue, but it doesn't come. Nope. Nada. Nothing. What the hell? It feels a bit like falling on my face, but you never reach the ground, so you just keep falling. No thud.

I know. Wait 'till I tell him what happened. "So Cas, I didn't mean to do it, but I bumped into this chick back there and uh, well you see it's a long story, but basically it ended in me and my Dean Winchester smile. I flirted Cas, I was totally flirting and look, I'm really sorry. I swear I won't do it again." The feeling is back. It's a lot like the other night, after he spanked me, but it's not quite the same. It's the feeling, but it's just out of reach.

Right away I see it. He's upset. He's hurt. "At least I didn't have to see it. I don't like hearing about it either, but I do thank you for telling me."

"Uh, you're welcome Cas. I mean it. I'm on my best behavior from now on."

"I hope you mean that, Winchester."

There we go. No. Wait. That's not quite what I was expecting. "Does that mean you're going to, you know?"

"Spank you? Depends. Do you think you need to be spanked for this? Are you asking me to?"

Fuck. I don't know. All I do know is I wish he'd stop asking me if I 'need' it and just do it or don't do it. We made rules and he's not fucking sticking to them. He's not living up to his end of the deal. Fine. If he's not, neither am I. "Nope." I smirk at him, daring him to do something about it.

"Okay. Let me know when you're ready."

What? This is bullshit. I sulk the rest of the way home. I still talk to him (don't want to be a complete dick) but I'm not my usual jokester self.

When we get back to the house, I carefully maneuver my sleeping boy out of the stroller. "I'll just go put him in bed." And make sure the fucking window's locked and barred.

"Okay. Lay down with him for a bit too, you're dead on your feet, Winchester. I'll prep some lunch."

I don't say anything in the affirmative, and I was already planning on lying with him anyway, but now, I want to do the opposite of whatever Cas says.

So after I've tucked him in, bolted the fucking window and kissed Michael's forehead, I head back downstairs.

Cas looks at me confused. "Forget something?"

"Nah, just don't feel like sleeping."

"You're exhausted Winchester. You should sleep when he does."

"I'm good."

"I disagree. I'm telling you to sleep. This isn't up for discussion. Move."

I'm close. I'm really close to that feeling I'm looking for. I'm riding the edge of it, but I'm just not sure he's actually going to do it – spank me. "No. I'm a grown adult. I'll go to sleep when I feel like it."

Cas remains calm. He doesn't get mad, or raise his voice, but there's something in the way he speaks that makes my stomach do a flip. "You are a grown adult, who's being sent to bed. You can obey me and go to bed nicely, or you can go to bed with a sore bottom. Either way, you're going to bed."

That's it. That's the feeling right there, the one I wanted, but…he won't, he won't do it, will he? I'm not sure. I'm so confused now. This isn't what we talked about. "Forget it, Cas. I'm not doing either of those."

"Okay Winchester. I can see where this needs to go. You're getting a spanking." Slowly, taking his time, he removes his jacket, hanging it on a hook by the door. Then he pulls out one of the kitchen chairs and begins rolling up the sleeves to his white, long-sleeved, button up shirt. I watch, like I'm watching a movie in slow motion, as he does this and when he's finally done, he sits in the chair then looks at me expectantly.

"Wh-what are you doing?"

"What does it look like? I said you're getting a spanking and you're getting one. Come here. Now."

I'm bigger than Cas by far, bet I can run faster too. Hell, it's my house, I could just tell him to leave, but I do none of those things. Instead my legs move me closer to him and I start pleading. "I'm kidding. I kid. I'm going to bed – was planning on it anyway, I just—"

"Decided to test me first? Well congratulations, consider me well and truly tested. Take those down for me, please." He's referring to my jeans.

There's still time. The kitchen has a back door I can run out of. I'll hideout at Sam's house, no scratch that, Sammy will rat me out to Cas. Work, I'll go to the shop…and hide in Bobby's office. But almost as if they have a mind of their own (maybe Cas is Darth Vadar and's using the power of the force) my hands reach to undo the button of my jeans and unzip them, I pull my jeans down, but only just past my ass. I'll do whatever it takes to get him to stop looking at me like that. "Cas please, I'm sorry."

"Thank you for your apology Winchester, but we have much to cover. Place yourself over my lap please."

I'm not stupid. I already get something. He's getting me to do everything myself because then it will really hit home how much I'm choosing to be spanked. Asking just wasn't enough for hard-headed Dean Winchester, clearly. I now have to place myself over his lap.

And I do.

I do it, without his help at all. "Thank you Dean." He rubs my back and there's such _relief,_ my heart, the one I didn't know was racing, slows just a little. It's still going though and I still feel like I should protest.

"I really don't need a spanking Cas. I've already learned my lesson."

"Ah yes, let's start there," he says as he takes my jeans down the rest of the way – straight down to my ankles. My underwear is still shielding my ass, but it doesn't stop the flush of embarrassment I feel rush through me. He begins spanking overtop of my underwear and believe me, underwear are a false sense of security. I very much feel each and every paw print, they're practically useless. I'm investing in the padded kind.

"Did it feel the same yesterday, when you weren't spanked for something you should have been spanked for?"

When I don't answer, his hand prompts me. "Ow. No," I admit reluctantly.

"No, it didn't. Without me following through," all of this said with more slaps from his hand onto my clothed rear, "the chain is not complete. It's like sitting around and waiting for an Earthquake. It might come, it might not. You don't know, so you can't truly prepare for being safe. Uncertainty decreases the feeling of security." His words are punctuated with yet more spanks and I'm squirming a bit now without wanting to.

He's right and I understand the context of what he's saying now. I felt like I was wrapped in a blanket, but my toes were still uncovered. The suggestion I could get spanked brought me some of that warmth, but him not doing it slowly allowed all the warm air to escape.

Finally, he gives me a break and he rubs my ass and it feels good, but at the same time, my ass feels hot and it stings. "Does that make sense to you now?"

"Yes, sir. I get it, sir." Am I done? I hope so.

"Are you okay, Winchester?"

Am I? Yeah. I am. I know that means this isn't done. "I'm okay, Cas."

"Good, because we're not near finished."

"I was afraid you'd say that. What else have I got coming to me?"

"That's where I was hoping you would tell me."

"Honestly, I don't know Cas. I'm fucking confused if you want the truth."

"And you should be. I haven't followed through on anything I said I would."

"My ass says different," I say then cover my big mouth. He's still rubbing, I'm in no hurry for him to start up again. "I mean, did you plan this, Cas?"

"Plan is a strong word. I just disengaged and allowed you to brat away, until neither of us could tolerate it any longer."

I want to tell Cas that 'brat' is not a verb, but I'm pretty sure that's a bad idea right now.

"Can you see the other folly in a Head of House not following through? "

"I, I think so."

"Please, enlighten me."

"That's where my confusion's coming from. We made a deal and you didn't live up to your end."

"But me not living up to my end is a good thing isn't it? It means you evade punishment."

"Yeah, but…I guess the best analogy I've got is, it's like having a safety net, but not knowing if it's been placed underneath you or not. You're still jumping without faith, without certainty." There's that 'certainty' word again. He's still rubbing and the stinging is beginning to dissipate.

"Good job, Baby. Without consequence, accountability is void. Then what happened?"

"I went looking for it that, that feeling." Cas will know what I mean. I recall the feeling of falling on my face without ever feeling the impact of the fall.

"Yes. Otherwise known as bratting. You kept pushing, testing, some of it conscious and some of it unconscious. Each time, that place inside of you was looking for a reaction from me and when you didn't get one, it got increasingly chaotic for you. Does that sum it up?"

"Yeah. It was just like that, Cas. Crazy enough, I was mad that you weren't doing something about my behaviour. I don't get it though, shouldn't I have been happy not to get spanked? 'Cause believe me, I really wish you'd let me up right now."

"I can. But I think you know enough now to know that if we don't finish this, you're just going to keep feeling confused. You know what I expect and you know you didn't follow through. My role is to correct you when you don't stay true to your commitments. You then need to know that I'm committed to my role, the one I promised to fulfill, or you will always feel chaotic and you will never receive the benefits this relationship is meant to bring. So are we done this spanking, or shall we continue?"

I'm still new to this, but I know enough to know I liked what happened the time we did go through a punishment together and I didn't fucking like how I felt today. "Continue, please, sir. I want to finish the spanking."

"Thank you, Dean." I have to work really hard to remember I'm the one who's asked for this when I feel him reach for the waistband of my boxers. "Hips up, please."

I lift them and I feel my cheeks (the ones on my face) go a deeper shade of red as he briskly bares me, my boxers join my jeans at my ankles. Suddenly, he's super stern. "Why am I punishing you today, Winchester?"

I shiver, but it's not necessarily a bad shiver. It's not a sexual one either though. "I was a brat yesterday and this morning. So I was rude and disrespectful."

"You were. Thank you for recognizing that. Though I do feel I should tell you that while I definitely feel you're owed a spanking for yesterday, I'm not sure I would have necessarily spanked you for this morning. It was more amusing than rude. You were on thin ice, but that's where I take responsibility."

I knew it. I knew I was on thin ice!

"While yes, you did make the choice to push, to test, all it would have taken is one word from me and I'm fairly certain you would have behaved yourself. So this is just for yesterday, are you ready?"

"Yes, sir." I still wince though.

"Let me know if you need a break." It's much different than the first time. Especially since he hasn't specified how many 'till he's going to stop, but I feel comfortable knowing that with just a word from me, he'll give me a break.

And did I say the underwear were nothing? Wrong again. They were much more than I gave them credit for and I'm squirming a lot sooner. I even have to let out a few 'ow's' and 'ouches.' By the time he's done, my ass has reached a new level of ache. I definitely feel it and it's not pleasant, but it's nothing I can't handle.

I sigh when he's rubbing again. "Anything else?"

Fuck. There's so much else. I might as well get it all out. "Michael and I changed Baby's oil."

"And why exactly is this a misdemeanour?"

"We decided no work today and I worked."

"Did you go into work?"

"No."

"Then I don't see the problem."

"But…okay." Jeez, you'd think I'd want him to blister my ass by the way I'm talking. I should just take the money and run on that one.

"But what, Winchester? Out with it."

I sigh. "It's stupid but, I felt like I still should have asked you."

I can feel him smiling above me. "Thank you for your honesty, Dean. I still don't feel you should be punished for that, but it sounds like there's some uncertainty surrounding work, perhaps because of our conversation? Was it not thorough enough? We can talk about whatever else you need to, honey."

Honey. Normally, I'd want to punch someone in the face for calling me that, but I like Cas calling me that. He gets to.

"They feel connected for me. I think…I think for the month I'm taking this semi-work break, I should have to ask."

"Okay. What's next?"

Ugh. I don't even want to say it. I feel so fucking bad now. At the time, I didn't even think about it. "I broke a rule. You asked me not to flirt and I did and…uh, she's probably gonna call me Cas."

The rubbing of my ass stops. " _Winchester…_ "

You ever watch Alvin and the Chipmunks? Remember how Dave would always growl the name _Alvin_ just before he'd shout the name Alvin? That's how my name sounds now. "I'm sorry, Cas. It was my damn Winchester ego. You know how I get when I'm given the brush off."

"That's no excuse."

"I know. Not trying to excuse it, it was…okay fine I was being a brat okay? No I didn't do it on purpose, I'd never hurt you on purpose like that Cas, but after, I was kind of glad I did it so you'd, uh…"

"So you'd get a reaction out of me and I'd spank you." It's not a question.

"Yes, sir."

"Your wish is my command." Now that I'm on a third round of spanks, the new spanks hurt sooner, but they don’t seem to be any more (or any less) than for the other two rallies. The sting brings tears to my eyes, but it's not just the sting, something else, something _new_ is happening. There's a feeling throughout my body, one that burrows straight down to my nervous system, and suddenly I'm…emotional. It's like the spanking is igniting some kind of emotional sob fest.

"Can we, can we break for a sec please, Cas?"

He stops right away. "Of course. Are you all right?"

"Yeah, it's just…intense with the crying and the sting. The whole thing together…"

"It's okay, Baby. That's how it's supposed to feel. I want you to cry. It will be good for you, okay?"

I sniffle. "Okay, Cas. I'm good." But I have to ask him for one more, short break before we're done. Whoa. What an experience. I feel the kind of exhaust you feel when you've been swimming for a few hours and emotionally wrung out, but in a good way. Like a cleansing.

He rubs my back for a bit then helps me up and the rest of the way out of my clothes, he brings me over to the couch, pulling me to him and I get to burrow into my Cas lair again. This time, I can feel my ass against the, what now feels like, rough material of the couch (even though last I check this couch was soft).

He cards a hand through my hair, kisses my forehead and lets me finish crying, which I'm not really doing anymore, it's more an 'aftermath' kind of thing – a few shaky breaths and it feels good. He hands me a Kleenex and I blow. "Wow, Cas. That was something else."

"A good something else?"

"Yeah. Not that I'm in any hurry to repeat that."

"Crying is hard for you. How do you feel about that?"

"I don't know yet. I mean, it wasn't _just_ a cry, you know? I could feel it in my body and it brought me to another level."

"Is chaos restored? Is the safety net back?"

" _Definitely._ "

"Good. Mission accomplished."

"How long did that take? Michael already slept an hour. He's going to be up soon."

"About fifteen minutes. The spanking itself was maybe three, but all the talking lengthened the time you spent over my knee."

"Oh. It seemed longer. How does it look back there? Do I want to know?"

"It's red, but you'll be okay. I wanted you to go deeper this time. It's soon, but you were ready. You were made for this, baby."

"On that note Cas, I'm ready for a lot more. After today…well I hated feeling like that, all confused and up and down and fuck – no more."

"You felt confused for a total of maybe eight hours, it wasn't that long."

"Long enough for me now that I've seen there's another way. I know I feel better now and I want…I want you to just spank me when you can tell I need it. I don't think I'm the asking kind. Sam's right, I'll just push you, I'd rather not let it get to that."

Cas heaves a big sigh. "It's not so simple I'm afraid. I'm only human, Baby. I'm not always going to know, sometimes your pushing is going to be my only way of figuring you out."

"I get that, but I really, I'd rather you just pulled me over your knee and spanked me rather than asking. I…I kinda like it like that. It's pretty much what you did this time. I liked it better than last time."

"You did, did you? You sure this doesn't turn you on?"

"Not the spanking part, least not now. But I get a thrill when you, uh, when you tell me what to do. Don't fucking tell Sam that."

"What we discuss privately is our business Dean. I'm not going to tell him anything, but by the sounds of it, you tell him just about everything anyway." He gives me a long kiss on my lips. "Okay, I can do that, but I'm still going to ask you to place yourself into the position I ask for punishment. At least for now and there's still going to be lots of talking. We're still new Winchester, there's a lot for us to learn about each other."

I nod. I get why he's doing that. This is a choice and also something I want, but Cas has to be sure. We're quiet for a bit, and I enjoy snuggling with Cas. "Okay Winchester, upstairs. You've stalled long enough."

"You know Cas, Michael will probably be up soon anyway. How about I take a nap later, before dinner?"

"No."

"I don't want to, Cas. I want to cuddle with you."

Just his hand going to my ass is enough to make me quiver. "You know, I have a special paddle for brats who don't do as they're told. I thought I spanked you thoroughly, but it sounds like I was wrong."

"Okay, okay. I'm going." I move to get up, but he tightens his grip, trapping me there.

"You have reminded me though, that I promised you two punishments for skipping the one."

"What? My ass is going to feel that for a decade."

"It will not Winchester. I'll be surprised if you even feel that by dinner. And I want you to know that I follow through on what I say. I will go easy on you though."

"Okay, Cas. Lay it on me. Will it be the rack, or the white room?"

"You're so dramatic, Winchester. It's nothing terrible, you haven't even had much time for television anyway."

"You're taking away T.V.?"

"Not exactly, you're going to miss the next two episodes of that show you like."

"Archer?" I say outraged. "I always make time to watch that. I'm still caught up actually."

"Well you can PVR it and have a marathon in two weeks."

This is insane. Can he do that? I think he _can_ do that. I think I gave him permission to do that.

"Before you complain," he says forestalling me by putting his hand up in the air. "I'm not restricting all T.V. just that show."

"The only good one." I cross my arms.

"Pout all you want, but it doesn't change anything."

Cas has spoken.

"Okay, to bed with you. Now. I've no doubt you're going to be up all night."

Yeah. Cas has spoken and he's bossy, but ya know? I wouldn't have it any other way.


	21. Daddy and Michael Day (1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Daddy and Michael Day was inspired by Phillip Helm tight, who is a sweet, sweet man I had the pleasure of chatting with some time ago. I don't know if he's still reading, but I used some of his RL stories (with permission) to inspire me. They are not so much in this chapter, but they will be in the next. Daddy and Michael Day will be a two part chapter day. The next chapter will be released sometime this w/e, so you won't have to wait long. Thank you Phillip. I hope I do you proud.
> 
> Also, my new fave fic is Bunker Hall written by Bella Risa. I mentioned it in WW, but I realized, not everyone who reads BDD reads, WW and if you're enjoying the DD of this fic, you might love her story as much as I do. It's here:
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/5071792/chapters/11662921

SATURDAY

Michael was worse last night and I'm _fucking_ dog ass tired today. But it's Saturday and as first order of business on the first ever Michael and Daddy day, Michael and Daddy are sleeping in. Michael's spread out at an odd angle on the right side of the bed (when Michael and I crept back in around six am, Cas was curled up on the left side) I'm curled on my side facing Michael.

Cas, sensing I'm half-way awake, slides his fingers down my torso and clamps his bare thigh over mine (we're both in boxers, three in a bed together is fucking hot) as he pulls me to him, my back firm against his chest. Cas is so fucking solid and I love it. Fingers slide up this time and to my chin, spinning my face so he can attach his lips to mine. I even let his tongue enter, not giving a fuck about morning breath. "Good morning Winchester," he says quiet in my ear. He knows better than to wake the sleeping shrieker.

Michael's just not a morning person. I don't know what the fuck I'm going to do when he's a teenager. Even now, he's grouchy as fuck and I'm too tired to begin that merry-go-round just yet. "Morning, Cas."

"Go back to sleep, Baby," he says fixing my sleep hair.

"Do you have to go already?"

"In a bit. I've got some time for you." He kisses me again even though he told me to go back to sleep. I'm irresistible. He pats my ass. It's not sore like it was last night (you probably won't even feel it at dinner my ass) but it remembers. "How's this?"

"Fine Cas, but let me tell you, this little Winchester is on his best behavior from now on."

"If I had a dollar for every time I'm going to end up hearing that…" He nuzzles into my neck and I have to keep from laughing.

"I mean it Cas. Wanna bet?"

"How soon we forget. Have you already forgotten, your last betting spree ended with you over my knee?

"No."

"No, sir," he corrects me. "No more betting."

All of that gives me warm, prickly, tingles. I'm so tired, I don't even have morning wood, but the tingles are different and I get those from all of Cas's firmness. I'm starting to get an addiction to that feeling and have the strange and dangerous desire to hear more of it. "You're just afraid you'll lose."

"You're going to lose these in about five seconds," he says curling a finger under the waistband of my boxers. "What was it you said about being a good little Winchester?"

That was a mistake, for two reasons. One, it worked, the feeling I get from all Cas's sternness, pulses enough to make me want just a little bit more, but (and two) I know he's a hair's breath away from doing it, because I know he means it and I don't want another spanking right now. It's just so thrilling. Will it always be like this? Or is this because it's still new. "Uh, no need, sir."

"I'm going to have a very sore hand aren't I Baby?" he says kissing me again. "I'm going to have to enlist some assistance."

"What's that mean?"

"Don't worry, I'm sure you won't be wondering very long."

I think crisis is avoided though and I think this could be fun. I'm going to enjoy dancing on the line between Cas's steely voice and actually getting spanked. Cas lays with us a while longer, continuing to run his fingers over my body, something I don't think I've ever had someone just do; I don't spend a lot of time doing these kinds of things with people. It's always fuck and leave, or fuck and get the fuck out. So this is special and I enjoy it and without realizing, I drift to a place where I think I'm awake, but I'm actually dreaming.

They're good dreams, but fucked up just like dreams always are. It's me and Sammy as kids, but Michael's there and instead of looking after just Sammy, I've got Michael too. He's even littler, like what he might have looked like as a one-year-old. He's drinking a bottle on my hip as Sammy plays cars at my feet. It's so vivid, it's eerie.

When I wake up, it's because I feel someone tracing my nose with his little finger. "Daddy," he whispers. "Daddy, it's time to get up."

I wait a second then I scare the living shit out of him, by suddenly waking up and grabbing him, kissing him all over. He squeals, but he giggles and I can't hear enough of it. And I know, I took a chance, he could have easily ended up crying, but he's my boy and he seems to be okay with letting Daddy get away with things like that. Sometimes.

"Scared me Daddy."

"Naw. You weren't scared, were you?"

"Yeah."

"C'mere." I squeeze him tight to me and snatch up Ironman giving it to him. "Daddy loves you, Michael."

That's when Cas swoops in the door, dressed for work, looking handsome in that damn trench coat and of course now my body choses to respond to that, sending happy thoughts to my nether region. "What was all that screaming I heard?"

"Daddy scares me, Cas."

"Tattletale."

"Behave yourself Winchester."

Jesus Christ I love that voice. "Yes, Cas. You leaving?" I open the covers and slide out of the bed, plucking up my boy who curls into me.

"I have to go. There's breakfast for you two in the oven. What are your plans with him for today?"

"He hated the playground, so I was thinking Beach."

"Beach? You haven't looked outside, have you, Winchester?"

What? I move over to the window with Michael and pull back the curtain, it's freaking pouring out. "God damn." The rain plinko's its way down the widow pane and washes away my super awesome plans for the day. After the book thing, it was the beach and then giant ice cream sundaes. This is never going to work.

"Good morning my lad," Cas say running a sturdy hand through Michael's hair. The extra sleeping in's done him good and he's not such a morning grouch, Cas gets a small smile.

"I has my soother, Cas?" I guess that's good morning in Michael.

Cas looks over at the bed and spies it amidst the blanket catastrophe, he snatches it up for Michael, a huge goofy smile on his face that I understand; he feels proud that Michael would ask for something from him. That's more Michael language, it means he trusts you. "Right here."

I laugh when Michael pokes his head forward, so Cas can just pop it into his mouth. "Okay, I've got to go, see you two in a bit?"

I nod. "See you soon, Cas." He kisses us both and is off. Man I hate watching him go. What is the acceptable amount of time before you can ask your boyfriend to move in? Whatever it is, I'm sure the answer is not one week.

I lay Michael down to change him and pull out all the diaper stuff. "Guess what today is Bud? It's the first ever Daddy and Michael day!"

I get a big smile from my mostly sad little boy. Every smile is like a drop of gold.

Hey. Maybe he'll have and idea, because sadly I'm out. "What do you want to do, bud?"

"Hang with Daddy."

Fuck he makes my heart squeeze. "That's the whole point of Daddy-Michael day. We'll hang together, but what do you want to _do_?"

I don't get an answer, so I'm up the creek. I gotta figure out something myself. Something fucking kick-ass that we can do in the rain. It's the first Daddy Michael day, so it should be epic.

I don't bother putting his pajama pants back on, planning on dressing him shortly and take my time getting us ready, since I don't have to make breakfast and skip showering. We make the bed together and I do our hair, making us match again. I pull off Michael's shirt, so all he's got on is his diaper and it's the two of us men, walking around in our underwear, the way God intended. Michael pats his belly. "Gots no clothes, Daddy," he points out.

"Me neither. Should we run around naked all day?"

"No, Daddy."

"Why not? Ironman's always naked." I start pulling stuff out of the closet though. I've got poor Michael's stuff in a pile on the floor of my closet and for some reason, it makes me feel bad, like I'm leaving him out in the cold, or something, which is absurd. It does get me to thinking that I should start on that room for Michael. I don't imagine he's going to sleep in his own bed anytime soon, but he should have his own room. At least a place to put his clothes.

He's staring at Ironman trying to put the two and two together of what I just said. "Irunman gots no clothes?"

"Not unless you count his funky robot armor as clothes."

Michael continues to stare at his friend, but doesn't say anymore on the topic and I get him clothes suitable for the rainy day, a bit pissed off – doesn't the world know that today's Daddy and Michael day?

I throw the clothes at him, lightly, so they land on his head. "Got you!"

"Hey!"

That makes me fucking laugh. He's so damn cute. "Get dressed, bud."

I don't know if knows how to dress himself. I've never bothered to let him, so far, I've always done it for him and he's let me. He's so small, you just want to do everything for him, but that can't be good. I kinda wanna see what he'll do.

He looks at me like I'm nuts, but he picks up his shirt, setting Ironman down. Now he's on a mission for Daddy. I pull out a Henley and a pair of jeans I think Cas will find hot, but that will also double as great Daddy and Michael day attire. I slide into the jeans and check out my son, who's managed to find his way inside the shirt, but's gotten lost. "Uhh! Uuhh!"

He's trying to pull his head through the long-sleeved shirt, but can't. I give him a hand. "There you are, big guy. Thought I lost you."

"Can do it, Daddy," he says pissed.

"Sorry, dude."

"S'okay, dude."

I pull on my Henley, watching as Michael tackles the jeans. He's slow, but he's determined and does a pretty good job and once again, reminds me of me. Thankfully, he lets me help with the button and zipper. He looks at me when he's finished. "Good job, big guy."

Michael smiles and reaches for me, so I scoop him up, snatching Ironman on the way. I check the time. We have just enough time to eat and go. "Are, we off like a herd of turtles?"

I set us up with the breakfast Cas made us and I cringe. One of the only things in the world I don't like, are eggs and mushrooms together. On pizza, in stir fries, hell, even raw with a whole bunch of vegetable dip, mushrooms rule, but with eggs? They're like slime.

Guess this breakfast's out for me. Thankfully Michael, so far, eats everything. Or so I think. "Doesn't like this, Daddy. Yuck," he says spitting out eggs and slime onto his plate, or wherever they land really.

What are the chances? I didn't let on in any way that I fucking hate mushrooms and eggs together and he's somehow 'inherited' my hatred. Makes me smile. "Yeah, yuck," I agree. "That food combo should be outlawed."

Only problem is, I don't have time to make us a whole new breakfast. Fuck. I wanted a hearty breakfast for Daddy and Michael day, but all we've got time for is cereal. I hope Cas expects to provide us with coffee. Oh god. Cas. I'm going to have to tell him his breakfast was a fail.

I watch my boy eat. He's a bit better today, but he still looks inhumanly tired. I don't know the true weight he carries and I fucking wish he'd let me shoulder it for him. I can't stand him so sad looking. I'm always trying to make him laugh, it's never enough.

We're just putting on shoes when I get a text from Sam. _Running late. Tell you when I see you._ Guess I'll have to save him seats.

When we get out to the Impala, Michael takes one looks at his car seat and decides to flip out about it this morning. "Doesn't want that car seat, Daddy! No! No! No!"

Wow. Never gotten that many no's from him. I know how this one works. I've seen it more times than I can count. Whenever my nephews don't want to do something, Sam and Gabe try to coax them and it works about ten percent of the time. The other ninety percent, they just end up telling their kids how it is anyway. I skip straight to that.

"You're going in the car seat, kid."

Michael doesn't scream at me anymore, but he starts to cry, I only just barely catch his soother before it hits the ground, but he does let me pick up and put him in 'that car seat,' crying in my damn ear. "Oh c'mon, bud. We're gonna go see Cas," I say buckling him in. At least I can do that now, think I've finally mastered the damn car seat, only took me two weeks.

That does nothing. I give him Ironman, but he cries all the way to Cas's coffee shop. This is not at all how I saw today going. And it's not just raining; it's a torrential downpour. I can't see five feet in front of the Impala and have to swerve out of the way of a stupid ass pedestrian. Michael gets to see road rage Daddy as I tell the stupid pedestrian what I think of him.

When we finally get to the coffee shop, I'm riled and Michael's a mess. His face is red, tear streaked and puffy; not how a face is supposed to look on Daddy and Michael day. I pull him out of the car seat he hates. "Sorry bud. You have to go in the car seat when we drive. Just tell Ironman what a dick I am."

All he wants is to latch onto me, so I don't bother with the stroller (which will be a pain in my ass) and let him cling to me. I retrieve his soother from where it fell and grab the diaper bag as Michael takes snifflely breaths and calms himself. We get soaked just walking from where we parked to the inside of the shop.

Doesn't look like anything's started yet, but there are rows of chairs set up, so I grab some seats in the front row, putting our stuff across five seats. Michaels's still curled into me not wanting anything to do with anything, probably still pissed about the car seat.

When Cas comes out from the back, my heart lifts making my whole body feel lighter and there's something more. I can't help having the thought, _this is the man who spanks me when I misbehave_ and it gives me that feeling I keep chasing. A feeling that's now becoming a constant, underlying thrill every time I look at Cas. Hell, it's even when I think of him, but looking at him makes it so much stronger.

"Hey, Baby," he says kissing me in front of anyone paying attention. I can't see'em. Just Cas.

"Hey, Cas."

"Hello, Michael," Cas says fixing his hair. "What's with him?"

"He's pissed, because I put him in the car seat. Cried the whole way here."

"I can fix that."

"You can?"

"Haven't you ever heard of bribery, Winchester?"

"Parent's best friend," I say like it's a pledge. "I was in a hurry."

"In a hurry?"

I have to break the news to him. "We, uh, we hate eggs and mushrooms Cas. Sorry."

Cas laughs. "You say that like I'm going to be personally affronted – I didn't invent eggs and mushrooms. It's okay, Baby."

"Yeah, so I had to 'make' cereal and I felt a bit rushed."

"Least he ate. I've got something that will make him forget all about car seats. Michael, do you want cookies?" he asks as he simultaneously reaches for my little boy, who goes to him willingly. It's stupid, but I feel cold. And I know Cas is just trying to help me, but this is Daddy and Michael day, I'm supposed to make Michael smile.

But I only really care that he does, so I'm happy to let Michael go with Cas a few minutes to get hopped up on sugar. "Should we get Daddy some coffee while we're at it my lad?"

Michael nods into Cas. "Take five Winchester, we'll be right back." I can't help, but smile (despite my loneliness) at the happiness I see fill Cas. He's loving that Michael's letting him take him. I decide taking five would be good, so I go find my seat and chill, waiting for Sam. Where the hell is he?

It's not long until another Dad and his son come in and try to snag seats in the front row. "These seats taken?"

"Just these ones, but the ones on this side are free."

"Thanks, man."

I shrug. It's not like I did anything. The pair look fresh. They're well rested and the boy (who looks about Michael's age) has so much energy, as soon as his father puts him down, he runs to the toys and books Cas has out for the kids. He makes instant friends with another kid and they're giggling together, like kids should; no cares in the world. _Not like Michael._

"Hi, I'm Richard," the man introduces, extending his hand. I shake it.

"Dean."

"How'd you get roped into this? Uncle saving seats?"

"No, well yes. I'm here with my son," I say feeling proud. "He's in the back with my boyfriend, this is his place." I feel even more proud. "Saving these seats for my brother and his two."

"Oh, so you must be the stay at home then, me too. My husband has to work a lot, but it's worth it, we've got Winston in one of the best pre-schools in the city. Which one does yours go to?"

"Uh, well ah, that is, you see, I work too. My son's not in pre-school yet." Great. Now I look like a deadbeat parent.

"Oh," he says totally judging me.

Thank God we're interrupted. Unfortunately, it's because my son's crying loud and screaming for Daddy. I'm up fast and meeting Cas half-way across the shop, Michael's diving for me. "Dah-dee, leaves me!" It's just that, over and over.

"No he didn't," I say pulling him tight to me and swaying him as he curls his little body into me. "What happened Cas?"

"Nothing. We were fine, he was eating cookies, smiling even, then he decided he wanted you. That's the nature of three-year-olds Dean, not always a rhyme or reason."

"Yeah, but why today?" _On Daddy and Michael day._ "He's been a lot worse today." It feels like how it does at night.

"Well, he didn't have a good night, that's a factor, but as a bright side, this means he's feeling more and more comfortable around you. Crying is healing. It's a good thing."

"Good? For who?" Does this mean Michael's just going to cry day and night now? "Sorry, I didn't mean that it just…" _hurts my fucking heart._

"I know Winchester. Michael will be fine. I promise."

Michael's starting to calm down. "Sorry, Baby. I have to leave you, that's the author coming in the door. Didn't get a chance to pour you that coffee, but the staff has been told to bring you and Sam whatever you want, just hail them."

"Thanks, Cas." Normally I'd protest, but this morning, it feels fucking nice to have my boyfriend buy me coffee. Besides, I'll give Cas free auto services for life, it can be like a trade. It might be a bit unfair though, I'm planning on eating a lot of those expensive croissants.

Sam's still not here and now I have to return to face 'Richard' again and with my sad little boy. _Prepare to be judged some more Winchester._

"That your boy?" Richard asks as soon as I sit down. Ugh. Why am I stuck fucking talking to this guy? Sammy, get your ass here.

"Yeah, this is Michael." Michael does not want to meet Richard. He curls further into my jacket and sucks his soother harder.

Richard doesn't get the hint that Michael's in no mood for talking. "Hey little guy, you wanna come out and play with Winston and the other kids?"

 _Little guy?_ Okay that's enough.

I'm about to lay into him, when an out of breath Sam swoops in with his twins. It's probably a good thing, because I don't think Cas would appreciate me kicking some guy's ass in his coffee shop, even if the dude is an annoying dillhole, in my opinion anyway. The spanking would be worth it.

"Where the hell were you dude?"

"Sorry," he says helping Matt and Logan out of their coats. "Matty swallowed a nickel. We've been in the emergency since eight am this morning."

They run off to play. "What'd he do? Get up and swallow a nickel?"

"Pretty much," Sam says exasperated. "What's up with him?"

Sam notices my mini-Dean, pissed off and wanting nothing to do with anything except Daddy. I used to think Michael was a Sammy replica, and looks-wise he still is, but his idiosyncrasies say different. This kid's all me, right down to the eggs and mushrooms.

"He's not having a good day Sammy." I can't even keep the fucking heart wrenching, sadness out of my voice. Sammy notices right away and knows how to deal with me.

"I wouldn't be either if my face was full of, what is that, chocolate?"

Oh, hadn't even noticed. Guess Cas didn't have a chance to clean him off with all the crying. Sam pulls a wet-wipe out of his bag and hands it to me. I start wiping his face and you can guess how much our friend likes that. "Doesn't like that, Daddy. Stop it."

Sam laughs thinking he's cute.

"Yeah, I'm gonna stop, in a minute."

"You eat like Daddy," Sam tells him. "Are you just like Daddy?"

Holy fuck. Michael smiles at Sam. "Just like Daddy," he says. He pulls his soother out. "We fix cars."

Sam distracts him enough, I'm able to clean cookie monster off and even get at his mouth now that his soother's out. "You do? What else does Daddy and Michael do?"

"Um, we hang." He looks so proud.

Sam laughs some more. "All you gotta do is talk about yourself Dean. Michael doesn't care about anything else – it's a match made."

Matt and Logan run up to say hi to Michael. "Uncle Dean, Uncle Dean, can he play with us? There's toys."

Michael looks up at me. He knows I already make him play with the kids. "I gots to play with the kids, Daddy?" His eyes are clearly pleading, _not today,_ and I should make him, it's probably good for him or something, but I just can't.

"No. Not unless you want to. Do you want to play with the kids, or stay with Daddy?"

"I hang with Daddy."

I squeeze him tighter. "We'll come back later, Uncle Dean. Maybe he'll change his mind."

I doubt it. They run off and make friends with Winston and the other kid. "Here Dean, I'm gonna stuff this is in your bag."

"Huh?"

"Cas's book. I've marked some things for you that you should read, but I've got the book pretty much memorized by now, so we can still chat if you want."

Fuck. That reminds me. I stand up and shift Michael to one side as I pull out my wallet and fish out a twenty. "Here."

"What's this for…oh, ha!"

"Yeah, laugh it up, Sammy."

He puts the twenty in his wallet smirking. "So did he uh, you know?"

"Yeah." For some reason it's not as embarrassing talking to Sam about it, as it is Cas, even though we're both using code for the benefit of others (Richard) who may be eavesdropping. "Did a good job of it too." I still feel the faintest of feelings on my thoroughly tanned hide.

"Good. Stop giving Cas trouble," he teases.

"That's the thing I don't get, Sammy. I'm an adult, I make adult decisions everyday, but you're right, something in me wants to push Cas." I remember this morning, that feeling I was chasing and, god, what I wouldn't give to hear Cas tell me to 'behave yourself, Winchester' just one more time before this thing starts.

Sammy shakes his head in a tisking manner, like he's suddenly become an expert on the topic. "This is classic brat behavior," he says quietly. "Classic."

"Okay, wise guy, explain."

"I don't know that there is a full-fledged explanation, other than it's just what some brats do. To me, it seemed almost like their way of playing with their HOH's, it's almost a sign of affection."

"Most signs of affection, don't have a, you know, at the end of them." I beg to differ with him. The spanking is not fun.

"But don't you see? That's you testing him, making sure he'll still hold you to consequences," Sam says as quietly as possible. "It also tells him you're depending on him for those boundaries and consequences, which will make him feel the same feeling you feel when he shows you he will hold you to the rules. It's like a game of chase on the playground. You both get an exhilarating feeling from the chase, just different kinds. The feeling is affection."

"But I'm not turned on at all by it."

"I know this may be hard for you to believe, Magic Mike, but not all of the exciting feelings of a relationship have to lead to sex. There are plenty of other kinds of thrills to feel. Arousal is just one. Fact, I should even qualify that: _Sexual_ arousal is just one. There are other types of arousal."

Okay, what? "Who died and made you King of the Kinksters?"

"That's just the thing Dean, it's not necessarily a 'kink.' Everyone chalks _spanking_ ," he whispers, "up to kinkery. It's not always kinkery. Sometimes it's just something in you. The same thing that makes you attracted to a man or a woman, makes you like what you like whether that be _spanking_ or watching a movie on a Saturday night.

"Whoa there cowboy. No one's claimed to like spanking, least not me."

"Sorry, yes. I forgot you're new, I'd better explain it further."

I'm new? What's he exactly?

"No, I don't imagine you do like the actual punishment part, if it doesn't sexually arouse you, but like it or not, it still gives you that thrill. You like the package, we'll say. Doesn't it do something to you inside, just looking at Cas? Something extra I mean, other than the attraction you feel."

 _Sometimes just hearing his name._ "Yeah." Fuck, I'm blushing.

"That's what the others said, in the book. Half of them can't really explain why they like it or need it either, just that it's part of them and that they know from doing it, it helps them."

I think I'm already starting to see that. "Back to this brat stuff. It can't be just affection. There's something more to it I think. What did the book say?"

Sam smiles. "You know that song by Betty Everett, _In his Kiss?_ "

"Yeah."

"That."

"What?"

"The essence of that song. That. Think about it."

"You're insane."

"Then of course there are different kinds of brats. I think you're somewhere in the middle."

"Whoa, okay. Too many balls in the air Sam." I've already got to listen to that damn song again.

Thankfully we're interrupted by a young lady; one of Cas's staff. She comes bearing coffee, croissants and hot chocolate for Michael. "This is for you Mr. Winchester."

"Oh, thank you. I didn't order anything though." I accept the coffee, put the hot chocolate by my feet to cool a little and give Michael a croissant, all with just two hands (which parents should have four of by the way) and all with him in my lap. I'm getting good at this.

"Castiel instructed me to bring this over to you. Would you like anything?" She asks Sam.

As she takes Sam's order, I look up to find Cas. He's still busy helping the author, but he had to have noticed I didn't order anything yet to send someone. I wait to catch his eye then lift my coffee cup in thanks. He sees me and I can tell from here he's relieved I'm taken care of.

"You know Dean, reading that book's inspired me," Sam says when the girl leaves.

"It has?"

"Yeah. Gabe and I, we might – "

"Oh no. No. I do not want to hear about my little brother getting spanked by his husband," I whisper.

"Hey, I have to listen to you, I even have to explain it to you. Besides, who says Gabe would be doing the spanking?"

To Be Continued…


	22. Daddy and Michael Day (2)

The show has begun, or whatever the fuck you call this thing. All the kids are gathered around the author of Barrel of Apples, Sherman Pigwind and are listening to him read, as I still try to erase the image of my baby brother spanking his husband outta my head. I should qualify 'all the kids' because all of the kids are not around the author, my kid is latched onto me. He refused to sit with the kids, even though Matt and Logan offered that he could sit between them.

But he's curious and he's looking. He reaches his hand toward the circle, as he climbs higher on me craning his neck. "Can't see, Daddy," he tells me, popping his soother out. "We can go over there?"

Crap. He wants _me_ to sit in the fucking little kid circle with him. You know what? Fuck it. It's Daddy and Michael day, my kid wants to sit in the circle with Daddy, I'm doing it.

Sam's drinking his coffee, looking just as relaxed as _Super Stay at Home Dad,_ Richard. I stand up with Michael and make my way over to the circle and wedge in with Matt and Logan who are excited to see Michael and Uncle Dean joining them. I check in with Michael and he's smiling like he should be on Daddy and Michael day. _Finally._ I can't believe how much that fucking relieves me.

_"One barrel of apples, two barrel of apples, three barrel of apples, four, I can't get them into my front door!"_

Okay, seriously, this guy is no Robert Munsch, or even Castiel Novak, I don't know what the big deal about this book is, other than Michael fucking loves it, but he watches and he actually laughs. It's a short book and I'm not sure whether to be grateful, or disappointed. I still don't have a clue what we're going to do next, maybe Sam'll have an idea.

I'm super pissed at myself when I find out Pigwind's going to sign autographs. I didn't bring Michael's copy. "Missing this, Winchester?" Cas slides Michael's copy toward me. "I knew you wouldn't know how these thing worked, so I snagged it for you."

"You're a lifesaver Cas!" I have the best boyfriend ever.

Once we've got autograph's, it's time to hit the road again. Sammy's packing up his kids. "So uh, what do you do with kids in the rain?" I ask.

"Not much. Logan's got piano to practice then we'll probably paint. I've got a small thing to work on for work, so these two are going to have to entertain themselves for an hour."

Sam's kids are actually pretty good at that. They play well together for the most part. "Oh." I don't want remind Sam about the Daddy, Michael day thing – he'll start talking again about how awesome a Dad he thinks I am. He already gushes about me too fucking much.

"You guys wanna come over later for dinner? I'm making tacos."

I fucking love Sam's tacos. "We'll see, we uh, I'll text you if it works."

I'm sure he knows something's up with me, but he's smart enough to leave it, he heads out with his two. I've got Michael sitting on the chair, as I put the jacket back on he took off just before the author asked the kids to gather around. Richard's still here. He's packing up too and fuck, I'm desperate, I'll ask him. "So, what do you do with Winston in the rain?"

"You say that like you can't do things in the rain, Dean. The rain is a great opportunity for a child to explore! Be one with nature! I'm taking him on a nature hike. All you need is a pair of boots and a rain jacket." _Two things Michael doesn't have._ "We're going to identify mushrooms and moss and find bugs. Then later, I've got an indoor treasure hunt planned for him. Took me the whole time after he was in bed to put it together, but it'll have been worth it."

 _It will have been worth it._ It's like the dude's fucking catchphrase. I'm sorry I bothered to ask Richard. And exploring nature in the rain with a three-year-old sounds like another kind of hell. I don't know if that's what other three-year-olds like, but I don't think mine's going to be into that. "Uh, have fun dude."

I actually glare at the guy for being such a douche as he walks away with his stuff and collects his _perfect_ kid.

"Behave yourself, Winchester."

His voice runs through me and over me, it's both comfort and dynamite. "It's not fair, Cas. Why does he get to be the perfect Dad?" I zip up Michael's jacket.

"I know where this going Winchester. I'll not have it. What's the problem?"

"There's nothing to do in the rain except study bugs and have stupid treasure hunts I don't have time to set up."

Cas crosses his arms, pinning me with his blue eyes, he's amused, but he's also making sure I mind my words. He doesn't want me spiraling down and drowning in self-pity. "Oh you'll think of something. You've got plenty of room in that brain of yours now that you don't have to conjure up senseless bets."

"Fine." I stand Michael up and grab his hand, slinging the diaper bag over my shoulder in one motion.

Cas crouches down to Michael's eye level. "You have a fun day with your daddy, my lad."

"Cas, Irunman gots no clothes."

 _Oh, he remembered that._ "There you go, Winchester. Go to the store, buy Ironman clothes. It'll make his week."

"But Cas, it's supposed to be something epic. That's lame."

Cas ignores me and kisses Michael on the head. "Make sure Daddy behaves himself, report to me, if it doesn't and I'll fix his wagon."

Spank it he means. Michael probably will rat me out. Cas stands up and pulls me in by my jacket's collar for a kiss. "Go to the mall, start there. That's an order Winchester."

"Fine, but this sucks."

He's trying not to laugh at me. "See you tomorrow, Baby."

"Whoa, tomorrow? You ditching us?"

"I thought this was Daddy and Michael day?"

"Well, yeah, during the day, but you know, it's over at eight o'clock."

"I'll see you then, Baby."

BDD

We head out into the lake that was the sidewalk, I scoop Michael up because it's faster and book it to the Impala. "Hey!" Michael complains.

From there I prepare myself, because if he doesn't like that, he's not going to like where I'm going to stick him. It's pouring and we're both getting soaked, neither of our jackets are very rain proof. I open the door to the Impala and as expected, Michael freaks, ripping his soother out and throwing it across the car. "No! Doesn't want that car seat, Daddy!" Thankfully Ironman isn't really made of Iron because I get hit with him multiple times.

"Michael, stop it. You don't hit, Daddy." I used my stern voice, but he still doesn't fucking stop, so I have no choice but to take Ironman away. He really screams when I tear Ironman out of his hands. I've got enough sense not to throw him, but I do have to place him down so I can wrestle Michael into his seat. He doesn't fight me anymore, but his cries are ear piercing. "C'mon, bud. We're going to get Ironman clothes."

"Irunman! Irun- _man!_ "

"I know. Here he is." When I've got him strapped in, I pass him Ironman, not bothering with his soother. Michael takes him and cries. I try various bribes to try and get him to stop crying, but I think the only thing that's going to get him to stop is taking him out of 'that car seat.'

I start the engine, contemplating if it's really worth it to go to the mall today (since once we're done in the mall, I'll have to put him in the car seat again and he'll be pissed all over) and of course the fucking gas light comes on. I'm so distracted all the time now, didn't even look at the freaking needle. Now I have to go to the freaking gas station.

I drive, Michael crying the whole way. This sucks so much. Today was supposed to be so much fun, but not only is this the third time Michael's cried, I had to get mad at him, he beat me with Ironman and we're not even on our way to anything cool. _I didn't have time to set him up a treasure hunt._

I pull up to the gas station and even though I'm going to fucking regret it when I have to put him back in, the first thing I do is take him out of the car seat. He stops crying immediately. "Doesn't like that," he tells me.

"Why?" I'm fucking baffled. I know he doesn't like it, but he never acts like this.

I don't get an answer, so I grab a new soother out of his diaper bag and slide it into his mouth. I decide to go inside to pre-pay, because Michael probably needs a snack (no I didn't pack anything, I thought we'd be somewhere cool right now, eating cool things). Cool will have to mean a bag of chips. Maybe he can eat those instead of crying. I've got Michael's hand and we're in the chip isle. Poor kid's got tear tracks down his face, we both look like drown fucking rats, and we're likely both starving. Cereal and croissants just doesn't cut it for the Winchester boys.

"Those, Daddy?" Michael asks pointing at the Cheezies.

Holy crap. He's _asking_ for something. I highly doubt Michael understands the concepts of both buying and money, but he's asking me for something that involves both those and it feels important somehow. "Yep. Let's do it. Daddy's hungry, he's going to eat you soon."

"No," he says, but he's got a little smile.

"Here," I say, stuffing a large bag at him, one he can barely hold. He tries his darndest though. "Bring that up there." I point to the till.

"Uuhh! Uuuhh!" He grunts as he slowly toddles his little self over to the till and I grab five more bags of Cheezies. If Michael likes them, he can have the whole fucking store. It's not like Cheezies are going to break the bank.

"Whoa, look at you big guy, you're so strong," the pretty lady behind the counter says to Michael.

I toss all my bags on the counter, then scoop Michael up (Cheezies, Ironman and all), and sit his diapered butt on the counter, so he can see. I'm impressed with the chick so far. "Look at all these Cheezies!"

Michael's staring at her wide-eyed, but's not saying anything.

"I saw the way your daddy was looking at you, boy, he sure loves you."

Michael looks at me this time with stars in his eyes that I don't deserve, not today. Michael and Daddy day's been an epic fail, but he's looking at me like I'm something wonderful, and I'm not, I'm just not. "Me and Daddy, we're hanging," he pulls out his soother to tell her. Guess anyone who talks about Daddy to Michael, he'll indulge.

"That, so? Well sometimes, just hanging ends up being the best times." She gives him a wink.

I get Michael to help me carry one of the Cheezy bags and Ironman, and hear his cute little grunts all the way to the car, but he does it. I open the passenger side, huck all the bags into the back and sit him there leaving the door open while I gas up, remembering to give him a Cheezy. He's happy to have the Cheezy, but he's staring at the ground beneath his dangling feet. I wish I could see inside the kid's head.

By the time I'm done filling the tank, the rain's actually lightened. It's still sprinkling, but it's not a fucking tsunami. We finally reach the time where I've got to put him back in his car seat, but I don't feel rushed now. I walk around and crouch down to his level. He's staring listlessly at the ground, hands full of Cheezy getting Ironman all Cheezied-up too, his feet hanging over the side. _What's wrong Michael? How can Daddy make it all better?_

There's a big fucking puddle under his feet. It's gonna get the Impala wet, but I decide to do it anyway. I stomp my foot and splash him. "Don't, Daddy," he says, but he smiles.

I do it again. I get a giggle this time and he wiggles his little butt down the seat (which I should change very soon) and he jumps into the puddle, Ironman as his trusty sidekick. He splashes me back.

"Oh yeah?" I say and splash him, soaking his pants. He thinks it's funny and splashes me again. We're not even wearing proper rain attire, or boots, so we're both pretty soaked already, but we're suddenly in the middle of a splashing war. We start running through the puddles in the parking lot like crazy people, both of us laughing and getting each other wet as the misty rain still pours over us.

When I finally look up, I see that all the cars have stopped and everyone's looking at us. Even the woman from inside's standing at the door, smiling, watching us. I snatch up Michael and shake out my hair, smoothing Michael's wet mop back and give a sheepish wave to everyone. They're all smiling at us, but I still feel the need to get us out of here. Michael doesn't complain this time when I put him in his car seat, he's got a big smile on his face and he yawns.

I shut up the Impala and wave again, this time at the cashier, revving the engine, as I drive off. "Daddy splashes, Irunman!" Michael tells his pal, as I head to the mall. Michael needs sleep, and I'm hoping the car ride will put him to sleep.

"Hey! Michael splashes too, Irunman," I complain.

"Yeah, I does too, Irunman," Michael agrees, not sorry at all and like it's, the best thing that ever happened to him.

He continues to chatter on happily to Ironman and I interject my two cents, making him laugh. Suffice to say, by the time we make it to the mall, he's not asleep.

Pulling out his diaper bag, I change him in the backseat of the Impala. I've done this a few times already with Michael, but it's this time I remember Dad doing this with Sammy. I was pretty young too, so the memories are actually just one memory and it's hazy, but I remember. Back then, it was because they didn't have family friendly washrooms. I do it now because I'm not really a fan of those family friendly washrooms. I'll use them when I have to, but in my opinion, the Impala is far more sanitary and homey.

I pull out the stroller this time, hoping Michael will sleep, but it means I have to set the damn thing up. After fiddling with it for five minutes, I get it figured out and Michael's staring at me. Of course I know he won't like yet another 'seat,' but I've got a bribe ready. "All right, bud. Hop in. Daddy's got a bottle and Cheezies for you."

It works like fucking magic and I make a mental note to always have Cheezies on hand. Once he's inside, I hand him the bottle and take his soother looping around my finger, then hand him a Cheezy, stuffing the bag in the stroller's compartment underneath. And dear God, I never thought I'd reach this point, but I'm actually afraid to leave the diaper bag in the car, 'cept I really don't want to lug it around with me. I'm hoping we'll just be quick, but I'm learning nothing's ever quick with kids. _Live on the edge, Winchester._

So I leave it. That's how Dean Winchester lives on the edge now folks, leaving the diaper bag in the car.

BDD

I feel a tired sort of relief that my kid is content, for the moment. He's not talking, but he's not crying, or complaining, or beating the shit out of me with Ironman. Speaking of whom, I've now got to outfit like I'm his god damned personal shopper, or something.

I check in on Michael for the third time and see he's drinking his bottle now. Hmm, should I get fancy and try to recline the seat? I know this thing is semi-fancy and that it reclines. It's a bitch figuring out anything on this thing, but if he sleeps, it's worth it. After inspecting the thing for a few minutes, I find a latch that I hope and pray is for recline. Wincing, I press and pull and feel the seat come back toward me. Ha! Winchester for the win. It makes it easier for Michael to drink his bottle and once again, it makes me feel good that I did something useful for him.

I peruse the isles, lost. I still hate the mall and Cas owes me for making me come here. I'm thinking lots of sex and croissants. I decide to ask someone for directions, so I'm not here forever and I get pointed to the doll isle. Fuck. _Okay Kiddo, I'm going into unchartered territory for you._

And I'm doing it alone. Michael is completely passed out. This is likely going to be the highlight of Michael and Daddy day and he's not even awake for it. I'm bummed, but I'd rather he slept. I carefully pull the fallen bottle away and slip his soother into his mouth.

Okay. Clothes for Ironman. There are a lot of packages of fucking dresses I have to sift through, but just when I think I'm going to have to dress Ironman in drag, I see one lonely package of dude's clothes. How fucking sexist. Just one?

There's a white t-shirt and a sort of, Archie-style sweater jacket thing with the letter 'A' on it. It looks like it will fit, so I swipe it up. While I'm here, I might as well grab more diapers (know where those are now) and I see those cool fish gun toys, I know Michael likes, so I get that too.

The real trick is getting him into the car again and fuck, am I exhausted. I'm still running on little sleep and this day has been, well, nothing like I expected. But somehow, I manage it all (like a boss); so wet, car full of Cheezies, clothes for Ironman and sleeping Michael, we head home.

BDD

I'm soaked and Michael's soaked. He wakes up when we reach home and groggily wipes his eyes. He's got that grouchy look on him that I'm starting to recognize as his hungry look. And if no one believes someone can wake up and be hungry, I'll tell them to refer to his paternal DNA. I quickly peel his clothes off, down to his diaper and take my jacket and soggy wet Henley off.

_Michael's going to need better rain gear._

"C'mon, kid. Let's get food."

It's been a terrible day food-wise: Cereal, croissants and then Cheezies. Least he had some milk.

Michael follows me to the kitchen and I pull up a chair to the counter for him. "We're going to have a Daddy special. Your uncle Sam forgets, but I was the one, taught him how to cook. Daddy got damn sick of Alphaghetti." Michael watches me like I'm the most interesting thing around.

"Now, I'm no gourmet like Cas, but I can make shit taste good. I don't have the kick-ass buns I like to use, we'll have to make due with regular bread, but I do have everything else. So, uh, here's me passing down my killer beef dip recipe."

I fucking love beef dips, so I usually keep the ingredients on hand. Michael seems to like helping me put together the sandwiches. I let him 'spread' butter onto buns then I slice the cheese (Havarti), but show him how to place the slices on the top halves of the bread. "We'd better have some vegetables too, or Cas is going to kick Daddy's ass."

I've got lots of the pre-washed 'lettuce in a box,' so we use that (it's faster) and slice some other veggies to put on top and we'll toss that in a simple oil and vinegar dressing with a dash of salt. I show Michael how to whip up a quick au jus. I cheat a bit and use pre-made beef broth, but it's the good kind. He stirs while I add salt, pepper, Worcestershire, and just a little cooking wine, then we add the sliced roast beef to heat in the juices. I slide the prepped buns, and cheese into the oven on broil.

When we're sitting down to eat, I do my perfunctory-Michael look over. He looks better somehow than he did this morning. I don't know how. I feel like we've been through hell today. We didn't even do anything epic.

The sandwiches are so big, Michael only needs one to fill him up. "Mmmmhmm," he hums. "Good, Daddy. It's so good."

"You like that huh? Thought you would." I show him how to dip his sandwich into the au jus. He makes a fucking mess, but he acts like I just introduced him to fire and he enjoys every bite. I'm glad I kept his clothes off and that I'm shirtless. I end up getting a bit messy too – like father, like son I guess.

When we're done, I shove all the dishes into the sink and take him up to the bath. It's pissing outside again and it reminds me we spent most of our day in the rain. A warm bath is going to feel fucking cozy. I grab the bag of stuff I bought at the mall. "Guess what we get to play with in the bath? Fish guns!" I get a smile.

I climb into the bath with him. He complains when I wash his hair, but I think I'm awesome at it now, since I don't get any soap in his eyes. I know my purchase is a hit when we have our second water fight of the day and I have to coax him out of the bath (yes with another bribe, I know now that's what parenting's all about). "Look what I got for Ironman, clothes!"

"Daddy, I gots no clothes."

"You don't need clothes, do you?"

"I need'em Daddy."

"Okay, if you insist. But put these on your pal."

I open the package for him and he looks at them, trying to figure them out. "I put this on?"

"Yep. You want help?" I say stepping into a pair of boxers.

"You do it Daddy. I don't know how," he says turning his palm up. Jeez my kid is cute.

"It's just like when you dressed yourself this morning. You never dressed a doll before?"

"No."

"Come to think of it, neither has Daddy, but I've dressed you. How hard can it be?"

Michael watches as I stuff Ironman into the white cotton shirt and sweater jacket. "There, now he's stylin' profilin'."

"Stylin'," he says taking him from me.

"Now we dress you."

When he's dried, diapered, and dressed (me too, minus the diaper) I'm fucking exhausted. "I'm sorry, bud. It's T.V. time and for dinner, we're ordering a pizza. I wanted to take you to Uncle Sammy's, but I can't." I sink into the couch and I think of Richard. _Fucking Richard._ I wonder how awesome of a Dad Winston thinks _Richard_ is for his special forest adventure, followed by super fun treasure hunt. My Daddy and Michael day has been a total bust. "You can play with your toys if you want though."

I shoot Sam a quick text telling him we're not coming by, but maybe we will tomorrow, then flip on the T.V. and of course, last week's Archer re-run is on and immediately I blush even though no one's here but Michael from just that thought that I've been _forbidden_ from watching Archer for two weeks. I also look around, expecting Cas to jump out at any moment, see Archer on the T.V. and give me his eye lasers. It's not the new one, but I don't think Cas will care. I'm so tired right now, I'm even too tired to get into trouble. If I had more energy, I might watch it then claim he never specified, _which_ Archer and that from our conversation, I understood it was the new episodes I was forbidden to watch. I might do that. Maybe. But not tonight.

I change the channel. Michael hasn't moved, he's watching me, fiddling with Ironman's new clothes. "What's the matter, bud?"

"I can still hang with you, Daddy?"

There's something heartbreaking about the way he asks that, like he thinks I might say no, which is ridiculous. Michael's become my little shadow and as exhausting as it is, I wouldn't have it any other way. "Yeah. C'mere Grease Monkey."

He runs and climbs up onto the couch with me, wedging himself under my arm and lying his head on my chest, I pull the couch blanket toward us and we snuggle; the heavy rain hitting the house hard, while we're all cozy inside. I change it to the kid's channel and we watch for a few minutes, then he starts giggling and pulls out his soother. "Daddy, you splashed me."

"Yep. I did. You splashed me too."

He waits another minute. "Daddy, we makes a big sandwich."

"A big one."

"Irunman gots clothes," he says holding him out to me.

"Yeah, he looks like one of the Archies."

He lets go a big sigh and relaxes into me, like he's, home.

I think he was…was he happy with today? But we fought and he cried and I yelled and it rained, hell I didn't even feed him properly most of the day. _Guess that's a typical day in the parent trenches._ I card my big hand over his small head and he sighs again, relaxed, content. For now.

BDD

Michael's in bed by the time eight o'clock rolls around and I'm pretty beat. I didn't even get a nap today. I loved being with Michael all day, but it was a lot more exhausting all around as a single parent. When Cas arrives, I'm glad to see him on so many levels.

"How was Daddy and Michael Day?"

I blurt out the feelings I've been feeling all day. "Terrible, Cas. We didn't do anything fun like _Richard and Winston_ probably did. We pretty much hung here all day after the mall."

Cas is not pleased with my answer. He removes his jacket and begins rolling up the sleeves of his long, white-sleeved shirt. I know what that means. "Hey, what are you doing that for?" I say slightly panicked.

"You know why." He's not stopping and his brow furrows deeper.

"But you haven't even said hello yet. Don't I get a warning?"

"I'm about to say hello to your bare bottom," he says pulling me up off the couch and switching me places. "Your warning was at the coffee shop this morning." He starts undoing my jeans and they're unceremoniously pulled down to my ankles along with my boxers. Then he waits.

"Do you really have to make me do it myself?"

"Yes and I wouldn’t make me wait too long if I were you."

"Fine." I place myself over Cas's lap wondering how the hell I've managed to wind up here two nights in a row. Or has it been three now? I've lost track.

"Tell me, Winchester," he says as he lays down several smacks on each cheek. _How does that hurt so much?_ "What did I say I wouldn't have you doing?"

"Comparing myself to Richard. Ow, Cas."

That doesn't stop him. "Why?"

"Because I'm, ow, fuck, putting myself down."

"That's right. You're self-effacing. Are you allowed to do that?"

"No, sir."

"Why?"

"Because you're bossy."

I get an especially hard smack for that. "Close, but try again."

"Because you said, so."

"That's right."

The spanking seems to last for fucking ever, until Cas yet again proves his T-1000 status and there are tears in my eyes. And when he's done it's, "okay, Baby. The wall, that one," he says patting my sore rump.

I don't bother complaining about standing facing the wall _this_ time and just do what I'm told. I shuffle over to the wall, I lost my underwear some time ago, having kicked it off in the futile effort to make the spanking hurt less, and put my arms behind my back and wait until Cas releases me.

"That's a naughty bottom," Cas says after some time and my stomach pulls tight. He's never said something like that after I've been spanked. I feel shame and, oh fuck, that, _that's_ what fucking ends up turning me on. Not the spanking, no, the embarrassment. The shame of standing facing the wall, with a red ass, like a…like a naughty boy and Cas talking like that. "You may turn around Winchester."

I do, but fuck, I want him to keep talking like he was talking. I don't necessarily want to tell him that. Cas yanks me to him and kisses me hello, goodbye and hello again. I'm panting by the time he pulls away and oh god, how I fucking crave Cas. It's fucking insane.

Cas immediately notices my hard on from the seventh level of hell. "You like that, don't you, Baby? You like being my naughty boy, Winchester," he says grabbing my cock. I just nod, 'cause yeah I am a naughty boy. I'll be whatever he wants, to always feel like this.

"I'm your naughty boy, sir," I tell him proud with a cocky glint in my eye. Cas smiles, predatorily, then he fucks me into oblivion.

Later, we spend a little time, cuddling on the couch, naked. "I don't want you thinking that way about yourself, you're a good father Winchester. I'm not just saying that, I don't just say anything. I wish you could see the way Michael looks at you. That boy adores you."

"I…I'm realizing that," I say shyly. "Which is why I feel so much pressure to be awesome. I wanted to do something really cool with Michael today, like _Richard_ did for Winston. They had a cool Daddy and Winston day even if I think looking for bugs is totally stupid."

Cas has that displeased, I might already be getting another spanking look on. "I know Richard," he admits, carefully. "Him and his husband are ex-patients, I know his husband better. I didn't mention it earlier, because I didn't think it would be the best time to get into it."

Oh god, Cas is going to kill me. "I didn't mean to insult your friends."

Cas's look softens. "They're not friends Baby, not really, I'm not mad."

"Then why do your eyes say you want to spank me?" I know already. I know when he wants to spank me.

"Because I do, but not for insulting Richard and Peter, because I feel like I haven't got through to you yet."

"Oh, you have Cas. I'm just complaining, that guy is a dillhole. Sorry if they're friends, or ex-patients, or whatever, but you should have heard that guy."

Cas rubs the tender skin of my ass. "Don't worry about him, he's what brats like you call 'goody-two-shoes.'"

"What? You mean they're like us?"

"Sort of. They have a discipline relationship, yes, but let's just say Richard is extremely well behaved. I don't know that I can even call him a brat, he 'brats' so little."

"Great, now he's better at that than me too." That guy's really starting to grate me.

Cas smiles and kisses me, then he stands us up. "Nope. Not in a million years, Winchester." He grabs my boxers and helps me into them.

"What do you mean?"

"What's the fun in that? Someone who's behaved all the time? When would I get to spank you?"

" _You_ like spanking me," I accuse.

"Of course I do. I like turning that naughty bottom pink then red."

"Is it…is it a turn on for you?" This has been a lot about me, I realize, I've never even asked him.

"Not always. Sometimes. But it doesn't have to be a turn on for someone to like doing it, nor does one have to be a sadist, which is the other conclusion people usually jump to. No. I just like doing it. I like having you obey me, I like handing out consequences when you disobey me."

Whoa. There's those fun tingles again, but not the sexually arousing kind. He finds his boxers and slips them on. I'm left staring after him. "But…wait, I want to know more about this Richard…"

"If you want to know more about Richard, read some of my book. I'm sure Sam earmarked that section for you. They submitted a story."

"Submitted a story? That bastard. I told him you were my boyfriend, he didn't even let on he knew you."

"Richard's a nice guy, he's just like that. It's part of his nature to please. He likely didn't know if I would be okay with that. He doesn't know where we're at in our relationship. He'd rather I introduced you first."

"This guy does sound like a goody-good." I frown at Cas. I know he says he prefers someone like me someone who's a…okay fine, I'll own it, I'm a brat and proud of it. I _like_ pushing Cas. I'll do it so long as he keeps telling me to behave in that damn voice.

Cas swings me around, so I gently thud against the wall (the one I was facing not fifteen minutes ago for my last act of Winchester). "I mean it Dean. Guys like Richard are boring for guys like me. I prefer the Lucy types."

"Lucy? I'm not a girl, Cas."

"No. You're not a girl, which I'm also thankful for. What I meant was, I enjoy the Lucille Ball type brats." He puts a palm to either side of my head and leans in for another kiss, which I pull off the wall for and he grips onto my torso with his firm hands pressing me to him. I don't know how Cas does it, tired as I am, but he's managed to wake my cock up for a second time tonight. Fuck it. I can sleep when I'm dead. I try to deepen the kiss, but Cas pulls away.

"Okay, Winchester," he says landing a sharp smack to my already sore ass. "Bedtime."

"Ow!" I rub out the sting. "But it's only eight-thirty and I'm still horny, Cas."

"Good point, it is quite early. Plenty of time for another spanking, I think it's time I introduce you to my special paddle."

I yawn on demand. "You know, Cas, on second thought, there wasn't even time for me to have a nap today and I'm likely going to be up all night. I'm beat. We should really turn in."

"Good idea, Winchester. Good idea."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The part Phillip submitted was the "Gas Station" scene. A special memory he shared with me about him and his grandson, who he raised. The love of his life ;-) Thanks again for the inspiration Phillip, I hope you liked what I did with it.


	23. When the Damn Breaks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Mock's back! 8 days in Fiji was as fun as you'd expect, but I'm happy to be home. 
> 
> There was lots of down time, so I did A LOT of writing! I have so much GUW and WW written and can't wait to share. 
> 
> I have to apologize, last chapter I seriously cock-blocked! I hope this makes up for it and if not, I went over board writing porn and discipline spankings for the Winchester series, so there you go! lol Seriously, like so many, I may have to cut some. I was just in that mood, lol! 
> 
> Hope you enjoy this chapter!

When the sun hits our bedroom, I open my eyes and realize…Michael's still asleep. _Holy shit._ That means he only got up once last night. He was up at around one am, which means he'd had quite a bit of sleep from his seven-thirty bedtime already, so it was hard to get him back to sleep. I rocked him with a bottle (Cas and I moved the rocking chair out of the bedroom, to one of the spare rooms before we went to sleep – Michael slept through that too, but we were pretty stealth) telling him the story of us. It is getting longer now, but I still had to do some improvisation, a bit like my dad used to. I've thought of a few cool adventures Michael and I could go on, you know if we were space pirates or something. Michael insisted Ironman would have to come too, but I told him that I call shotgun and Ironman could sit in the back, since I thought Michael'd want to drive. Don’t think he quite got that, I'll have to teach him about shotgun.

After about an hour of Daddy and Michael stories, he fell into a heavy sleep – literally. He felt like a bag of rocks when I brought him back upstairs, so we could snuggle in with Cas.

I'm fucking happy about this development, but not excited just yet. I don't know if it's a trend that's going to continue, or a one off. Maybe it's the putting him to bed at around the same time each night? Or maybe his little body is finally just exhausted. Not sure. Man do I feel great though. I know I've not made up for all the lost sleep (which, FYI, I don't think parents ever reclaim, my dad never did) but I've gotten enough sleep to feel human. To function.

Cas is still asleep. Michael's got a little foot resting on my shoulder. I think I can slip outta here, if I’m careful, without waking either one up. I want to make them breakfast. I'm the fucking piggy in the middle, though, so I'll have to slither down and off the end of the bed. When I do, Cas reaches out for me in his sleep and gets Michael's foot, the one that was on me, then settles back down. _I gotta have a picture of that._ Fuck. Okay, I'm an official sap. Don't give a shit. I grab my phone off the night stand, snap a quick pic, then head out, grabbing my housecoat off the back of the bedroom on the way.

I have a specific reason for wanting to make them breakfast this morning. A sappy one. One that extends outside of the fact that my son is Jabba the Hut disguised as the world's cutest three-year-old, and that Cas should have a nice breakfast made for him.

One of my earliest memories is of Mom making us breakfast. She used to make a special breakfast on Sundays, a big one. Sammy was too little to remember, or to appreciate those times, but I would tell him stories about it when he was little and I carried on the tradition.

Dad would always be dead tired Sunday mornings, but he'd usually have the mornings off and would use that time to sleep. I'd get up and make Sammy get up too, to help me and we'd make him breakfast.

It wasn't gourmet, like Mom used to make, but we worked hard to make it nice, even if Dad had to rush through it to make his early afternoon shift at one, or another of his jobs. Sammy and I had a lot of fun doing that... I hope someday, it will be Michael and I, making breakfast together, carry on the tradition, but for today, it's more important he sleeps.

Cas's sleep was interrupted too. He got up to make me the bottle, actually and sat up listening to Daddy and Michael story time for a little, but headed back to sleep when I told him we'd be all right. His eyes were drooping, his body not having acclimatized to the lack of sleep mine has, and it made no sense for both of us to be tired in the morning. One of us needs our sanity, better that it's Cas in my opinion.

I've got the eggs beaten and the ham frying, coffee brewing, when I feel eyes, watching me.

I turn around, my heart beating wild, only to find Michael, quiet, his two big blue, sleep-caked eyes staring at me, accusing ( _hey, you came down without me_ ) Ironman clutched in his fist, dragging, hair mussed, soother firmly being sucked. His lip starts to tremble and I know I have T minus three seconds before I have tears. I move quick. "Aw. C'mere, big guy. Daddy's making breakfast. I was waiting on yah. You wanna help?"

He nods. "Irunman, too?"

"Only if he promises not to flap his gums about the way I do my eggs like last time," I say with a big smile. He runs to me and I scoop him up, kissing his face. He's in nothing but a diaper (it gets hot with three in a bed) which needs changed, but we're going to have to get the ham off the stove first. I set him up on a chair, so he can see the ham, which I begin taking off and get him to help me set up the bread in the toaster, for when the time is right. "Okay, bud. Let's get you outta that wet diaper, cool beans?"

I grab him off the chair and sling him to my torso and he soaks into me, taking the time to hug me. It's not quite like the other hugs we've shared. It's special, like it's a father-son thing we do. Huh. Never thought a kid of mine might want to do that, but I note it. I've never been a 'huggy' sort of guy. Sure I hug my brother now and then and in the time Cas and I have been together, we've hugged and even snuggled, but even then, it's usually initiated by them, or it's me finding some sort of a lame excuse. With Michael, I just do it. I'm glad he feels comfortable enough to take hugs from me when he needs them.

Michael's three and like I've seen other three-year-olds do (which how happy am I he's doing something like 'other' three-year-olds?) he's looking for hugs from Daddy. _I could become a hugger for him._ Maybe his mom hugged him lots; he's likely _used_ to it. That's a good thought. His pre-me days are still a mystery, I like to think that he was smothered in love from the mama he cries every night for. Makes me feel better even if I'm not a hundred percent sure that's likely.

I squeeze my boy tight and kiss his head. "Love you, big guy."

I lay him on the carpet and use stuff from the bright yellow diaper bag. Michael watches me, like I'm Elvis as I try to put on a show for him, forever trying to coax smiles out of my sad little boy. Just as I'm finishing, Cas comes down wearing one of my t-shirts and his sleep pants. "Hey hot stuff. Nice of you to grace us with your holy presence," I say pulling Michael up to his feet by this hands.

"Morning, Baby. Oh good. I assumed he was with you, but I didn't hear you leave the bedroom."

"Actually, he was with you, still sleeping when I came down."

"He was?" Cas looks worried. "Why didn’t you tell me? What if he hurt himself coming down the stairs on his own? Or got into something dangerous?" Cas crouches and holds his arms out to Michael and Michael goes to him; he's swept up in a big hug with lots of kisses that make him laugh.

"Naw. He was fine Cas. Weren't you, bud? Besides, if I'd woke you up, that would defeat the purpose of a sleep in."

Cas sits his arm under Michael's butt, letting Michael's short legs fall to either side of Cas's torso. "Next time, tell me Winchester." It's a threat and a promise. It's barely past nine am and he's already using the voice that gets me going in that way I can't quite explain. Cas is pretty fucking cute mother henning like that. _Love that he's worried about my son._

"Yes, sir," I wink.

"You'd better." He leans in to kiss me. "Smells like you've got some coffee brewing?"

"Yup and breakfast started. Come into the kitchen and sit. Michael and I will serve you."

When we get to the kitchen, I take Michael from Cas and set him up on his chair by the counter. "Here, give this a stir." I hand him the bowl of eggs I've already cracked and a whisk.

I can see it in his eyes, Michael's not really sure what to do with a whisk, but he's stirred things before, so he attempts to move the whisk in a circular direction, swirling the eggs in the bowl. I help him a bit, showing him how to 'whisk' by moving his hand for him then leave him to do it his way as I prepare the pan with butter.

"You finished whipping those, bud? Pan's ready."

"Not yet," he tells me sagely. I've been demoted to Sous Chef. "Needs that, Daddy." He points to the salt I've got sitting on the counter.

"Okay."

I let him sprinkle the salt in. "Anything else?"

"Umm…I can see in there Daddy?" He points to the cupboard. _Oh crap. What's he gonna put in next?_ I open the cupboard for Michael and he takes his time looking.

"I hope you like Michael surprise, Cas."

"I'm about to have burnt surprise if you don't turn that pan with the butter off soon."

Fuck. I reach over, one hand still on Michael, to turn the stove off and take the pan from the heat. "Uh, thanks Cas."

"We needs that one, Daddy," Michael says, pointing to the jar of cinnamon, oblivious to the crisis Cas and I just averted. Cinnamon. That's not so bad. Kinda like French toast. He adds a healthy dose, though, might be a bit much, but he's happy. He stirs the cinnamon in, then shouts, "done!"

I get him to help me lift the bowl and we dump the eggs into the pan together, which is still hot from being overheated. I give him the spatula and turn the stove back on for him. "You're on Sweeny Todd."

Cas laughs as he helps himself to coffee. "You're great with him, Winchester. I have it on good authority, Winston and Richard would never partake in such an activity; the one clearly making your son's day."

"Richard wouldn't cook with Winston?"

"Nope. Too messy." He pointedly looks at the devastation left behind by salt sprinkling, cinnamon explosion, bread crumbs (from earlier, putting bread in the toaster) and eggs that are dripping from the crack where the stove meets counter and onto the floor. _Hadn't really noticed._ Was too busy focusing on Michael.

"They went for a nature walk in the rain, Cas. That's gotta be messy…but he won't cook?"

"Like I said, they're ex-patients, not friends, so I can't be certain, but I know how much of a neat freak Richard is. I imagine the 'nature tour' to be more observing, less hands on and if Winston did get dirty, I know Richard always keeps plenty of wet wipes on hand. There would certainly be no splashing in puddles." He raises both his eyebrows.

"But, that's all the fun. Our way is better."

Cas gives me a reproving look. "Not better or worse. Every parent is different, just like every kid is different, this way works for Michael and his bratty daddy, but maybe not for others."

I snicker, still thinking we're better, no longer insulted by Cas calling me a brat. So long as I'm his brat, he can call me whatever he wants. I try to help Michael with his breadless French toast. "I can do it, Daddy," he complains.

"Okay, okay, but here. Sprinkle some of this on." We're mad chefs, him and I. I hold the sugar bowl out for him.

"Fucking sweet, dude!" he says, loving getting to add yet more stuff to his creation. I get another look from Cas. I know. I know. Kids aren't supposed to drop F-bombs. I gotta get to that. That and like a million other fucking things, but right now, it's flipping cute and he looks a bit like me, as he concentrates on stirring the eggs in the pan, getting half-cooked eggs fucking everywhere. _That's my boy._

BDD

Michael's done his breakfast and working on a little from my plate (he did only have one bottle last night, instead of the two to three he normally has) and Cas watches, thinking something—I can almost hear him fucking thinking—but he doesn't say whatever that is.

"So I was thinking a visit to Uncle Sammy's today. What do you think, Cas? Would you be game for that?"

"Fine with me. Have you thought anymore about Michael's room? Do you want to start planning it?"

"Yeah, I do Cas, but I'm not ready to move him out of my room yet, especially with all that break in business."

"No one's saying that. In fact, I'd argue that it's too soon considering the circumstances if you tried. Last night was good. Michael's making progress, but there's still a ways to go for you both, he needs more time to adjust. A room for him would help that process, it would show him this is permanent, even if he doesn't quite understand that conceptually yet. He'll get it in here," he says patting his chest.

"I'm all for that."

"We could go to the furniture store today, could be fun for Michael—I know there's a certain someone who makes everything more fun, huh my lad?" He says to Michael. Michael smiles.

That makes me blush a bit, I know Cas is trying to complement me, indirectly. "Uh, should we paint too?" I ask, changing the subject.

"Up to you, but I say, unless it really needs it, waiting until you're both getting more sleep, regularly makes more sense. No use in adding more than you need to your plate. Obviously, I'd help you though, if it's something you want to do," he adds.

My boyfriend is the best. "I vote less work for now, since I did just repaint last year. We can paint it when he's a bit older and he can pick a color, or something. But I wouldn't mind stopping at the hardware store too, I'm going to buff up the Winchester security system, maybe even get one of those fancy camera systems."

"Oh really? Did you suddenly win the lottery? Usually you're talking about how much money you don't have, now you're able to afford fancy security systems?"

"No," I sigh. "But if it's something I need for Michael, I'm gonna have to figure out a way. Hey, I'm a good looking guy, maybe I can sell my body." I'm teasing, but I'm also fishing for something and he knows it, still the answer I get coats me in that warm Cas feeling. 

"Do that, and I'll spank your bare bottom everyday for a month."

Whoa. It's a bit hard to get my breath back after that. "I'm only joking Cas."

"I'm not."

Cas can pack so much promise into two little words. I know he means it. I blush again, but for different reasons. "Yes, sir." The scolding was so, totally worth the look on his face and I feel kinda floaty. Not for the first time this morning, Cas is appraising me.

"You behave yourself, Winchester, or else."

 _Hmm. I wonder what 'or else' is?_ "Uh, of course, Cas."

BDD

I text Sam and set everything up for tonight; Cas suggests we take the stroller instead of the Impala, since of course _today,_ it's not raining. Michael doesn't seem to mind it as much as the car seat, though I did unfairly bribe him with a whole Zip-loc bag filled with Cheezies.

The furniture slash hardware store trip is pretty uneventful. We only pick out the necessities, but it still melts a hole in my credit card, which is partially my fault. I really wanted Michael to have the bunk beds (Sammy and I always wanted them as kids) and Cas wisely suggested that if I was insistent on the bunk beds, I should opt for the ones with the larger bed underneath as the chances of Michael and I sleeping there together are high. I agreed and splurged, but when I walked out of the store, felt that pang of buyer's remorse I always feel. Cas did his look over thing of me, again saying nothing about whatever he was thinking.

Michael fell asleep on the way home with his bottle, and despite the stress over spending more money, I felt accomplished—a room for Michael and more sleep. _The things you worry about as parent._

After I tuck Michael into my bed, I head back down the stairs, wondering what Cas and I will do with time alone (and yes of course I have ideas) but he's beat me to it. The living room is not as I left it, Cas has been busy in the five minutes it took me to put Michael down. The coffee table has been pushed to the side, and the large blanket I always have on the couch is spread in the middle of the floor. Cas is different too. He's just in jeans. No shirt, dark hair freshly Cassified, barefoot and I can hear Scorpions (their most haunting song and my fave of theirs, Still Loving You) in the background.

"What's all this, Cas?"

His answer is a searing kiss and the removal of my shirt. "Can I make love to you, Baby?" Kiss. Kiss. Kiss.

"Fuck yeah," kiss. "Cas."

"Fuck, baby. You make me so horny. Do you know how hard it's been for me, secretly gawking at you for so long these past five years?"

It's hard to answer him with his tongue in my mouth, but I don't think he's in a rush. "Yeah? Did you whack it to me?"

His eyes glimmer. "Of course."

"What we talking here? Two? Three times a day?"

"For a guy who puts himself down in particular categories, you're awfully arrogant in others."

"I know my strengths, Cas. No denying I'm hot and can do sex good, real good." I highlight that fact, by undoing his jeans and shoving my hand down his boxers.

"Mmhmm. _Fuck._ Don't make me come yet, baby. I want to come in your ass."

Cas talking like that gives me good fucking feelings, straight to my cock.

"You're mine, baby. Wanted a long time for you to be. I want you to know it."

Cas must also be a fucking ninja, or Judo master, or something, because he fucking sweeps me off my feet, literally, using some kind of martial arts type move and suddenly, I'm flat on my back, on the blanket fort Cas constructed; Cas already pushing his cock (still clothed) into mine. Cas pushes his jeans down, just his jeans, enough so his boxer covered cock, can rub against the tent in my jeans. It's a fun, frustrating feeling, which turns up the arousal factor by a few octaves. He's kissing me and nipping at my neck, his palms flat on the floor, on either side of me, hips grinding into me, slow and sensual, as I thrust up into him, wanting more, more, more…

"Cas, I'm either going to come like a virgin, or get dick chafe if we keep this up."

"No you're not. Come and I'll spank your naughty bottom."

Jesus. H. Christ.

We all know how my little Dean feels about actually getting spanked, but the threat of it, in that damn voice of Cas's, combined with dirty talk and our cocks fucking rubbing together like firewood sends a feeling to my belly. The thought, the embarrassment I get at the thought of being spanked like a naughty boy, _that's_ what turns me the fuck on and at the same time, makes me want to behave myself—I don't actually want to be spanked… Do I?

It always seems to be this yes, no war. Confuses the fuck outta me, but one thing that's not confusing, I fucking like it. "Not helping Cas."

He smiles. He knows. Bastard. "Guess I'd better get my cock in you." He removes my socks then my jeans and boxers, all the while watching me with his smoldery Cas eyes. What are smoldery Cas eyes? _Eyes that devour you, eyes that promise something dark, sinful; eyes that mesmerize you._

Then he dumps a shit load of lube (that appears as if from nowhere) all over my dick and up my ass crack. I don't know what the definition of 'making love is.' Sam once made me watch the fucking Notebook and there were a bunch sappy scenes that I would say are some people's version of 'lovemaking,' but not mine. _This,_ what Cas is doing, is fucking love making to me. It's hot, dirty and I feel connected to him; taken care of. I hope he doesn't pull any Notebook crap on me…though gotta say it was looking that way when I saw the blanket. Thank god for Scorpions and thank god for Cas kissing me like I'm chocolate cake. 'Cause you don't take your time with that shit, you scarf it and look for your next piece.

I thrust my hips as he rubs his finger up and down the crease, over my perineum and circles my hole before pushing his finger in. He fucks me with it, in, out, in and out, then stealthily adds another, then another, opening me for his gigantic cock.

When I'm ready, he pulls down his boxers and pushes his jeans down his ass some more, but only to just under his ass, enough to take out his fucking cock, so he can fuck me with it. Somehow, that's really fucking hot.

Then he bends me in half, pushing my knees almost up by my ears. I feel that jolt of embarrassment, again, being so open and vulnerable for him, but it goes straight to my aching, leaking cock and his eyes are filled with extraordinary love, for me; I get excited about how it's gonna feel. "That's it, baby—open yourself for me." It's like he knows exactly what to say, what all my kink buttons are. "Do you like being on your back, spread for me, waiting to take my cock like a good boy?"

Jesus fuck. Fuck. I fucking love Cas's dirty, dirty talk. My hips jolt and I have to squeeze my nuts, so I don't come. "Yeah, huh," I say, barely able to talk.

"Good boy." It only takes him a second to slip the condom on and then he's slipping his dick inside me until he bottoms out. He's slow doing that and he gives me some time to adjust, but after a couple slow thrusts, he's pounding the hell outta my ass, rubbing over my prostate at a speed almost too much to handle and at the same time, not enough. I'm moaning shamelessly and swearing, trying to get more of his cock.

"I want to see you play with your dick, baby," he says.

Don't have to ask me twice. I reach down and take hold of my slick, aching cock, and pump it in time with his thrusts. It's not long after that and we're both fucking coming. I don't know about Cas, but I've never come so hard. Cas seems to know just what I like, just what to say to me, to make it so, so good. I'm fucking spent.

After clean up, we lay on the blanket, Cas with his jeans still open, but he's pulled them up and we fucking cuddle. "I love you, Winchester," he says. "Love you so much. Do you know?" 

I smile, groggily, not sure if I can string words together to form a proper sentence after that fucking, uh, er, love making, but I say something and hope he can hear how I feel in my voice. "Me too, Cas. I fucking love you dude. You have no fucking idea."

BDD

Gabe is still away, so it's just us six for dinner. "I know how much you like taco night Dean, so I saved it for tonight on the off chance you decided to come by. It didn't sound too hopeful for yesterday."

"You're the best Sammy." We drove over, Michael didn't like his seat, but he didn't throw a fit like yesterday, just complained to (well-dressed) Ironman about his 'three-year-old problems.' All the sleep he's been getting must be helping; in general today, he's been less cranky, which made me feel a fuck load better (least I'm doing something right) but he's still got that sad quality about him, the one that makes me want to punch the things making him sad, so they can go away.

He did say something interesting to Ironman, something that came as no surprise to Cas or I. He told Ironman, "wants to sit up there with Daddy. Cas sits with Daddy. How come I can't do that? Doesn't like this seat Irunman."

Cas laughed, for obvious reasons. His problem isn't necessarily the seat itself, it's the not sitting beside Daddy part. Sure he seems to be okay when he's not cranky, but that's like ten percent of the time. What am I going to do about the other ninety percent?

"We'll figure something out, Winchester," he promised.

"Hey favorite nephew, did Ironman get cool new duds? Looks like Daddy was shopping in the doll isle," he says.

"Yeah, laugh it up Sammy. Least Ironman's a manly doll."

"Oh c'mon Dean. You know we don't gender socialize in this house, our boys can play with whatever they want. There are a few dolls in the playroom. To be clear, I'm making fun of you, not Michael. It's just funny to think about _you_ going in the doll isle, since I know dolls so aren't your thing. I wish I coulda been a fly…"

I scowl at him and the thoughts about what I'm going to do to my brother if he doesn't stop are interrupted by Michael. "Irunman?" he asks me, interested in what my brother said because he said Ironman. I haven't taught him about 'duds' yet. There are a few contexts we'll have to go over.

"Uncle Sammy's talking about these. His clothes," I show him, reaching down to tug on Ironman's new jacket.

"Did Daddy buy those for Ironman?" Sam asks, when he doesn't get a response.

At first I think he's making fun of me some more, but I get what he's doing when Michael's face lights up and he's suddenly a chatterbox. "Ironman gots clothes. Daddy got'em for him. He's stylin' filin'. We, makes a big sandwich and splash! Like this, Sammy," he says using his free hand to show Uncle Sammy, all of it said with his soother in his mouth, but I'm pretty good at translating soother-speak. "Splash!" He giggles then hides into my leg.

Sam is proud he was able to pull such a response from Michael. I know the feeling, kinda like you're a super hero. "You sure love doing things with Daddy. I get it," he whispers. "Daddy's the best, when he's not being a J-E-R-K."

Logan and Matt come bounding into the entryway, finally having figured out we're here. They no longer care about Uncle Dean except to ask me if they can play with Michael, which confuses the hell out of me. Michael's kinda a dick to them. Not in a mean way, he just, well it's pretty clear he has no interest in hanging out with them. I don't know why they always want to hang out with him so bad, but whatever the reason, I'm glad they do. Michael needs friends like Logan and Matt. My nephews are good stuff. They're good big cousins.

"C'mon Michael. We thought up a new game we think you'll like…well, Lo thought it up, but I helped him think up material," Matt says.

"Yeah. Matty thought up all the fun parts. Can he play with us Uncle Dean?"

Michael already knows what's up; he slips into his 'brave-mode.' "I-I hasta play with the kids, Daddy? How 'bout I hang with you?"

I want to tell him he can hang with me, but that's all he'll do if I let him. I can't help feeling like it's good for him to hang out with others, 'cause I can guess that it's probably not so good for him to just depend on me. "Just for a little time, okay? We're gonna eat dinner soon anyway. Cool Beans?"

"Daddy comes to get me soon, o-okay? Five minutes."

"I will. Five minutes." I'm pretty sure he doesn't know how long five minutes is and that's he repeating what I say to him at work a lot.

He marches off dutifully with the kids and I watch him go feeling like ass, but my instincts are telling me to do this. I usually have good instincts.

Cas puts an arm around me. "He's going to a playroom, not off to war, he'll be fine Winchester."

"Yeah, Dean. Who's the helicopter parent now?" Sam says.

They're just trying to make me laugh and normally that kind of stuff would, and earn them both snappy, funny as hell rejoinders.

But the thing that's been building since, well if I'm honest, since I first set eyes on Michael's sad, broken spirit, the thing that I'm realizing now, seems extra heavy today, has built to the point where I can't keep it in anymore. Why today? I don't know why today. Just is. 

The damn I allow to open, when I cry at night with my son, opens now and I'm wiping at tears, right in front of my brother and Cas. I'm practically sobbing as I tell them, "he's so goddamn sad all the time, that's why I worry like a damn helicopter parent. I don't know why, but I'm the only thing that seems to make him happy and it's daunting because it's unrealistic, s'why he needs other people too. I have to work, so he can eat and…I'm just trying to do right by him, but nothing's fucking working…and…and…" Fuck. I've reached that point where the words are all stuck together in my head and can't get out one at a time, or in the right order, not enough to make sense anyway. Plus, I'm fucking embarrassed for breaking down and not in the good way, like I feel with Cas and the spanking, it's the kind of embarrassed where I just feel stupid.

Cas pulls me to him first. "I'm sorry, baby. I know, I know it must ache. I ache watching him and I'm not even his father. I promise you though, in time, he's going to be the happiest kid on the planet, you'll see."

I take a shuddery breath. "I…I know Cas."

Sam taps in and hugs me fucking tight, in a way only Winchesters do. I started out stronger than him in life, but he's had me beat a while now. "Honestly Dean?" He takes a big heavy breath. "I think Michael's been sad a long while…even before his mother died. Sorry to say it, but I just don't think his life has been so great."

I know Sam's right. My gut's been saying the same thing, I just don't want to admit it. I cry harder picturing it. My Michael in some cold, sad life. "But despite whatever life he lived before, I've watched him come alive with you, Dean. You. You did that. It's what you do. Take broken things, people and put them back together, better than new. If it weren't for you Dean…fuck, _you_ made us a family Dean and you're doing the same thing with Michael. Cas is right. Hang in there, give it some more time; he'll be the happiest kid on the planet."

"Y-you think so?" I pull away. _Gotta save my hug power for Michael._

"I'm living proof, dude."

Instantly, I'm smiling and returning to myself. My brother knows me; knows what to say to me better than anyone sometimes. "Dude, that's the sappiest thing you've ever fucking said." I've gotta turn this back around. Erase my crying fit.

"Whatever, Dean. You liked it."

"Did not." But yeah, I did. A fucking lot. He knows.

"Let's go get dinner served," he says. "By then it will have been five Michael minutes and we can get the kids."

Cas, Sam and I get the kid's plates prepped, juices and milks poured, beers opened, then go check on the kids. I can hardly bear to look at his sad little face, clutching Ironman (only friend) staring at the kids uninterested, waiting for Daddy to come get him, so I hang back a bit like a coward.

But as we approach, I hear Michael's distinct giggle. _I'd know his giggle anywhere._

I look at Cas and Sam, then push ahead of them to bust into the door. "Daddy!" he says when he sees me, but he doesn't run to me like I expect, he's running around the front of the room where Matt and Logan have chairs set up and are watching him, like he's putting on a play for them. Michael's hamming it up for them and he's mid-story, not even stopping to come to me. I crouch down beside Logan. "Lo? What's he doing?"

"The game Uncle Dean, the one we co-wrote." Only Gabe's kids would use the terminology 'co-wrote' and at their age.

"Which is?"

"He really likes you Uncle Dean, like a lot, so I came up with the idea to just ask him all kinds of questions about you and he'd tell us. Matty came up with most of the questions," Logan explains.

"Yeah. We don't really know what he's saying, 'cause he won't take his suckie thing out, but he's having fun," Matt says.

I look at them both in awe, 'cause how did they figure that out? But I'm not too surprised, Sam is stupid smart and Gabe is too, of course their kids are geniuses. I catch something Michael says, 'cause I can translate his garbled soother speak (not only that, it helps that I have context) and laugh. "Do you know what he's saying, Dean?" Sam asks.

Not only is Michael talking, he's acting out what we did getting Ironman to help him. "Yeah. The other night, I used one of Cas's smelly socks he left on the couch, to do shadow puppets."

"More likely that was your sock, Winchester."

"Shush, Cas. I'm trying to listen."

Cas scowls at me, but his eyes are smiling.

"Ask him something else," Sam says to Matt when he's done, clearly enjoying my son enjoying himself so much.

"Michael, Michael," Matt says. "tell us what Daddy does in the morning."

"I gots no clothes," he pats his chest. "Daddy gots no clothes. Irunman no. Clothes!" he says in two breaths, trying to imitate what we, well no, what I do. Sorta. "Brush our hair and then, scares me! Rawr!"

I get a dirty look from Cas. "That was only one time and he loved it. Look." Michael keeps pretending to scare the kids, making them laugh.

"I got one," Logan says. "Michael, what does Daddy say?"

Oh crap. Are we sure this isn't the get Daddy in trouble game?

"Fucking. Sweet. Dude!"

The kids laugh hard. Sammy's eyes pop, but I can tell he's not surprised. "Thanks Dean," he says quietly to me. "Now I've gotta talk with my kids about appropriate language."

"I'd say from their laughter, they know. Ask Michael what the Winchester cheer is," I say quietly to Logan, changing the subject.

"There's a Winchester cheer?" Sam asks.

"Is now. Made it up one night when I was delirious. He still says it to Ironman once in a while."

"Michael, tell us what Daddy says the Winchester cheer is," Logan says.

He puts one hand on top of the other, dropping Ironman. "One. Two. Three. Whooooa, Inchester!"

We all laugh at how cute he is doing that. "Hey, I never got a cheer," Sam complains elbowing me.

Michael's so wound up from the 'game,' he's actually hyper; he's running around in a circle for no reason. I join him and he laughs. "You can't get me, Daddy!"

"Yeah I can and then I'm gonna eat you!"

He squeals and keeps running, but I catch him and yank him up to me like a chimpanzee. "You ready to eat big guy?"

"Yeah." Then like all the hyper's catching up with him, his lip trembles and he's crying, rubbing his head into me. His soother falls out, but I catch it like a pro.

"Hey. What's with all the tears? I saw you playing with the kids. I'm so proud 'a you kid." I tousle his hair. I'm so fucking relieved. I'm not optimistic enough to think that he's suddenly going to be all better, but I can see that he really can be okay. I see now, what Cas was trying to tell me, about me being the one he comes to, to take all his troubles away. _He's brave when he has to be._

"I can hang with you, Daddy?"

"We're gonna eat now, then how about we teach every one the whoa Winchester cheer? All of us will play together." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My fave Scorp song. The one Cas played for Dean. So beautiful. 
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CjRas1yOWvo


	24. Top Education

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was hard for me to get on track with this story this chapter. 
> 
> Thanks to my dear, dear LW who provided me with some cute baby Michael pics and other inspiration, or there would be no chapter!
> 
> Also thanks to the fabulous Majestic_Duck for taking a look at the part that ailed me. Much appreciated!
> 
> ETA: Sorry for mistakes and awkward sentences. Like I said, this chapter was a struggle. I'll continually edit. ;-)

I can barely open my eyes when I hear my alarm and blindly, frantically reach for my phone, so it doesn't fucking wake Michael. I shut it off and hold my fucking breath watching his breath for a couple 'till I'm assured he's going to stay asleep. He does. Last night was not near as bad as it's been, but it was worse than Saturday night. Michael was up a few times, but at least he wasn't screaming his head off. I'm glad I can let him sleep, but fuck, I want to sleep too. I think it's safe to say sleeping is over for me for awhile and I'd better get used to this half-baked state.

I do my shimmy out of bed thing, leaving Michael suckle his soother and cuddle with Ironman. I walk over to Cas's side of the bed. He's already stirring having heard my alarm, even if Michael didn't. "Getting up," I whisper in his ear.

"I'll get up with you, baby." I think about arguing, but I know if Cas is intent on doing something, there's no stopping him. I dress as he grabs my housecoat off the back of the door. I skip a shower this morning, even though I could use the wake up; I'm too tired to think about how much work a shower is.

I start coffee soon as I reach the kitchen, while Cas starts some breakfast for me. When coffee is brewed and I'm settled with the sip of my first cup (there will be at least three cups consumed this morning) I stop to appreciate how nice this is; morning with Cas.

In usual Dean style, when Cas brought up moving in together, I did my knee-jerk-Dean-freak-out thing, but the thought does keep crossing my mind. Yeah, I know, it's Michael that's sped up even the consideration, but I still think we'd be attached at the hip even without Michael. I don't do this. Not at all. If my heart's picked someone, it's picked.

It's more Cas I'm worried about. Wonder about. He jumped in to help me without much thought for himself. He's got a life too and now he's here with us, in a cycle that isn't going to be ending anytime soon if our 'keep Dean at work' telethon is going to continue. If past experience is anything to go by, it's only a matter of time before he wakes up to the realities of a ready-made family; just like all Dad's girlfriends did.

And he's going home tonight where he'll be alone to luxuriate in being alone. All that peace, all that quiet. We've figured out he's not much help at night. Logically, it makes sense for him to go home and come on his mornings with Michael, but…well, I just want him here. I'm _used_ to it now.

"Why are you pouting Winchester?"

"You're leaving us."

He smiles. "We're going to see each other everyday, baby."

"Aren't you worried we'll forget all about you?"

"Over night? I'm not worried. Not in the least. In fact, I know I'm sure to be firm in your psyche tonight."

"Yeah? Why's that?"

"Your favorite show is on tonight, the one you're not allowed to watch."

I stick my lip out, pouting deeper. "Aww, Cas. You weren't serious about that were you?"

"Serious as a heart attack."

I flip the eggs onto a plate trying to come up with a reasonable argument, but it was Sam I sent to lawyer school, not me.

"Is there any getting off for good behavior? Can we make it the one night if I'm a good boy?"

"No Winchester. I don't do that. It's a bad idea, but I have a good idea for you, use the time you would have to watch the show, to read a little of my book. I'm sure Sam's highlighted and sticky noted the most important parts."

"Whatever, you won't know," I mutter, not brave enough to say it straight to his face.

"What was that?"

"Uh, nothing."

"Good, because if it's what I think you said, I'm happy to stop by in the morning, before I know Michael will be awake, so I can send you to work with a sore bottom, not to mention you won't be watching your show for the rest of the season. I don't take kindly to being disobeyed, especially over well earned punishments."

That takes my breath away. All I can do is stare. Eventually, I go back to pouting, as I eat my breakfast. Cas serves me coffee looking sexy in my housecoat.

I get a wry smile. "Are you that upset I'm not staying over?"

Yes. "Nope. We'll be fine. No time for boyfriends with all the reading I'm gonna do."

He relaxes into the chair beside me, leaning back, sipping his coffee, studying me. "You're cute when you miss me like that, I'm not even gone."

"I'm not fucking cute, Cas."

"I'll miss you too, Winchester." He sets his coffee down, grabs my wrist and pulls me into his lap, securing his arms around me. It feels good to have someone hold me. "I'm not going anywhere," he promises.

I pull my plate over, so I can keep eating from his lap. I'm bigger than Cas, but somehow it works. He feels like a mountain to me. Solid.

When I'm done, I lean into him. "Cas? Thanks."

"You're welcome Winchester."

"How do you always know what I need?"

"Because it's my job."

**

After cleaning up Dean's breakfast dishes, I head up to check on Michael. He must have just woke up. He's sitting up, still looking about, dazed and rubbing his eyes. His hair is complete disarray, with a look on his face to match another Winchester I know, who was in a similar mood this morning.

I'm not sure if he's figured out that Daddy's not here, but when he sees me, he's clearly displeased. He crosses his arms. No crying. _Interesting._ He's studying me, sucking hard on his soother; he's slipped into his tough-guy Michael mode, like when he plays with the twins. It's clearly something he's used before, as a defense mechanism, further confirming my theory that Michael is tough when he has to be. He knows he doesn't have to be with Dean. "Do I have another pouty Winchester to deal with, my lad?" I say, walking in and snatching him up like nothing's out of the ordinary.

"Yeah."

"I do?" It's hard not to laugh at how cute he is.

He curls into me anyway, so I think I'm safe. I do everything with him his Daddy would, in my own way. I'm not the same kind of fun as Dean, but I chat with him as I change his diaper and get him dressed, trying to coax smiles; I style his hair like Dean does. "There. Is that acceptable, my lad?"

"I'm like Daddy Cas," he tells me seriously.

"Just like Daddy." I poke his little belly. "Time for breakfast."

I get him to help standing him on a chair. "We is going to see Daddy, Cas?"

"We are."

"Soon?"

"Soon. We have to bring him lunch, remember?"

"He's waiting for us. We makes him a big sandwich."

"That's right."

We eat together while he chats with Ironman. "Daddy's not here Irunman. We has to bring him a big sandwich. I'm with Cas. We likes Cas. Then we stay in there and fix cars. Daddy's car goes vroom…"

He chatters on about Dean all through breakfast only pausing to take bites. Sometimes I have to prompt him. "Cas?"

"Yes, Michael?"

"I wants some Cheezies."

It's hard not to laugh when he looks so cute asking for Cheezies. "I will make you a deal. Be a good boy and sit in your stroller and Cas will give you _lots_ of Cheezies."

"Okay."

From there I keep everything usual. If Michael and I can have a routine, he can know what to expect when he's with me. That will bring him comfort. We make the sandwiches together and I even coax a laugh out of him. When his shoes are on and he's sitting nicely in his stroller, crunching on Cheezies, I check to see if he knows. "What do we do now?"

"See Daddy." That makes him smile.

"But before that, we…"

"We…"

"Get Daddy his muffins, remember?"

"Yeah."

Since today is going well, I don't hurry to the Coffee Shoppe, taking time to ask Michael questions about things we see along the way. I haven't yet reached Ironman status, so he doesn't chatter on and on with me like he does with his doll, but he does answer my questions and seems genuinely interested in talking to me. By the time we reach the Coffee Shoppe, he's even asking me some questions. "Cas? Why does Daddy like those muffins?"

"Why do you like them?"

He's perplexed by that. I laugh as I pull him out of the stroller, leaving it by the door and set him down. He's completely finished the bag of Cheezies I gave him, I told him it was lots, but it was only seven, which in my opinion, is lots to a little boy. He was happy with the number. I stuff the empty Zip-loc baggie in his diaper bag. He waits beside me, looking around; he's such a good boy. I know a lot of his 'good' behavior comes from security, so instead of running off, he sticks close to me or Dean. But as I get to know him, I'm able to gather bits of his personality.

He's very much like Dean. Michael scans for danger and if he doesn't trust you to take care of it, he will himself. Him waiting with me is a big show of trust, he feels he can rely on me. I won't let him down.

He takes my hand easily and we stroll up to the counter. I'm so proud and yes, getting way ahead of myself. I can't help feeling I'm here with my son on a day off. I've got relaxed jeans and a black t-shirt on, no jacket and I have no intentions of going behind the counter today. In future days, I will bring Michael to work with me and we'll work, but not today. I want to get him used to being with me first. Hell, I'm willing to be the stay at home. We can come into the shop when we absolutely have to. But see? Way too far ahead. That's what happens when you fall hard in love and it's a double whammy for me.

I lift him to the counter and fix his shirt and hair. "Tell Jen what you want, my lad."

"Um, muffins. It's for Daddy."

"Oh. I see," she says.

I quietly let her know that it's the croissants we actually want and ask her to pour some coffee into one of the thermoses I have behind the counter. From the corner of my eye, I notice Michael watching me. He's very aware he's not with Daddy, but he's willing to be with Cas, I think. It's like he's noting how I'm different from Daddy and talking himself into being okay with it.

"Can you carry the muffins for me?"

"I can do it, Cas." He's practically insulted.

"My apologies Mr. Inchester."

"I'm really strong."

"I know you are."

As we head to see Dean, I hope against hope that Michael's good mood keeps up. I want him to see Michael is okay, but I’m worried the feelings this little boy has for his daddy are still too overwhelming.

What happens isn't _good_ but it's not bad either.

He's completely different than he was in the Coffee Shoppe where he waited for me to pull him out, he's frantically inching down the seat and sliding out. Dean's there, leaned against a black truck, talking to Benny, dressed in navy coveralls, arms crossed, a wrench and rag in one hand. He's got a smudge of grease on the top left corner of his forehead where he must have wiped the sweat from his brow earlier. Soon as he catches a glimpse of Michael, his smile takes over his face and he crouches down to accept the boy barreling at him. "Hey big guy, I was waiting for you."

It's not the gut-churning sobs it usually is, so I take that as a win. It's more of a whiney, compliany, cry. There are tears and sniffles, as he explains to Daddy what he's been doing all morning with Cas. Dean wipes at his tears and bounces him, it's all so natural for Dean. He has no idea how good he is at being a Father. "Watcha got in the bag, bud?"

"Muffins."

"Muffins?" Dean looks at me probably wondering if it's some kind of punishment.

"It's easier to say than croissant."

He gets it. "Oh! Muffins. Thanks bud! That's Daddy's favorite." Dean squeezes him and Michael sinks into him, not ready to forget he was without Daddy yet. He puts his head into Dean's neck.

I abandon the stroller, but take the coffee out of the holder and make my way over. "Hey Baby," I say giving him a kiss on the lips.

"He seems, better," Dean notices. I'm so glad he's noticed.

"He was perfect. We had a good morning, not a tear."

"That true grease monkey? Were you a good boy with Cas?"

Michael comes out of his hide-out in Dean's neck. "We saw birds."

"You did?"

"I ate lots of Cheezies."

"Thought so. You're gonna turn into a giant Cheezie! Don’t I get some Cheezies?"

"Cas," Michael says pointing to me.

"I gotta ask Cas? Forget it. I'll never get Cheezies out of him."

"Perhaps if you behave yourself, Winchester," I whisper in his ear and enjoy the shiver I get. "For now, I must go." I fish Michael's soother out of my pocket and pop it in his mouth for him. Between eating Cheezies and croissants and drinking juice, he hasn’t needed it since this morning.

"Goodbye my lad," I tell Michael pressing his nose.

I receive a Winchester certified glare from him. He's scrunched his nose; his eyebrows frown down. He pulls the soother out. "No, Cas. Is not goin'. We has to have the big sandwich."

Dean is no help. "I'm with him on this one."

"All right you two," I say pretending I'm put out. Because really, I'm flying. Michael _wants_ me to stay. I'd stay the rest of the day if there wasn't something important I had to go do. Something that needs to be done while Dean is still at work. "I will stay for lunch, but not a minute more."

**

I have to say, today was a good fucking day. It's not any faster working with a three-year-old underfoot, but I'd say as far as three-year-olds go, I got myself a good one (though there could be some bias) and I'm getting used to it. I'm starting to know when to check in on him and beginning to get a sixth sense for when he needs a diaper change, or food, or juice, so it feels easier even though none of the demands have changed. I've just got better at dealing with those demands and I'm damn proud of myself for it—so yeah, easier, but it's still not easy. I still think it's shitty that the poor kid has to hang out here in a lousy, greasy garage, but he doesn't seem to want to be anywhere else; I take some comfort knowing that.

He's no less thrilled to be going "in that seat" when I buckle him in for home, but I'm equipped with Cheezies. I can't give him Cheezies every time we go somewhere though, can I? No. Probably not. But until he's big enough to ride shotgun, it's either that, or find some other solution.

When we get home, I park the car in the garage, but enter through the front so I can check the mail. I'm solo-parenting it tonight. The reality is, that's what I am and that reality really sinks in with Cas going back to his apartment. It's fucking bullshit is what it is, but it's too soon to ask him to move in. I know it. I just can't think of a solution that gives me the best of both worlds. I want my cake and eat it too God dammit.

Michael and I climb the steps to the front porch when I see, whoa, what the fuck? Cigarette butts. What the fuck are cigarette butts doing on my fucking porch? Last I checked, neither Cas or I smoked. And from the smoke still rising from the ashy bits, they're fucking hot. The culprit didn't leave that long ago.

Not thinking too far ahead, I grab Michael up in a way that scares him a little. I don't mean to, but fuck, _I'm_ fucking scared okay? Who's breaking in and hanging around my house? With Michael stuck to my body, I charge down the steps and around to the back of the house, looking for any signs of anything, or anyone. "Scared, Daddy," Michael whines clinging to my shirt.

I turn the 'I'm-going-to-fuck-you-up-if-I-find-you-shit-head' meter down a little. "Sorry bud. There's nothing to be afraid of though, remember? I'm Dean Winchester and I can do anything. Okay? And if by some crazy chance that doesn't work, you call Cas. Cas is even tougher than Daddy."

"Cas?"

"Yeah. He'll help you. So see? You've got two people willing to raise hell for you kiddo. There's also Uncle Sam and Uncle Gabe." I don't know how much of that he understands. I know it makes me feel better. Whatever happens between Cas and I, I know he'll be there for Michael. Beyond that, Michael has other family members to rely on. He'll never be alone again.

We head inside and straight to the kitchen. I'd rather be clean before I cook for Michael, but washing my hands again will have to do; his bottomless pit is complaining. So it's not 'till after dinner and after we've had a bath that I find that everything in our bedroom has been changed. Slightly.

My dresser now has an entire drawer completely devoted to Cas's socks and underwear. My closet has been reorganized to fit some of Cas's dress shirts and pants for work, as well as some more casual clothes. Michael's clothes are hung up too and have their own place in the middle where my stuff ends and Cas's begins. Remembering something I saw in the kitchen, it clicks and I smile getting the idea. I test my theory. "C'mon Michael. Let's find Cas's stuff."

Excited to play any game Daddy wants, he follows me to the bathroom where we just were, bathing, but I hadn't been paying attention, still pissed about the douche smoking on my porch and a little depressed because Cas isn't here. But now I see all the stuff. There's a second 'adult' toothbrush in the holder (Michael's is the Spiderman toothbrush, so it's not hard to know which one is Cas's) and some extra toiletries are added that are not mine. "Look Michael, Cas's toothbrush!" I'm stupidly happy to see it there, it's like he's here.

We race downstairs (though race with a three-year-old is pushing it) because if I know Cas, he's a thorough kind of guy. I check the coat closet and yep, hanging there is one of his signature khaki trench coats (I knew he had to have more than one) and some of his dress shoes for work, even a hoodie and some other more casual shoes.

I already know that in the kitchen, is one of his aprons. I did notice that when Michael and I were putting together dinner, it was hanging on a hook by the door, but I thought he'd just forgotten it, now I know it was left on purpose. In the living room, on the coffee table is an envelope, it's sitting on top of my copy of his book. I open it to read:  


_Dear Winchester,_

_I hope you don't mind, but I made some 'improvements' to your home. I have not moved in, but I haven't really left either, have I? We don't yet share a house, but we do share a home. I'm home when I'm with you and Michael. I hope this is amendable, baby. If not, I'm sure you'll get used to the change over time._

Cas's sarcasm bleeds through.

_Make sure to tell Michael I love him and give him a goodnight kiss from me._

Love Cas

__

_P.S. I also left you something on top of the shelf over your T.V. Something else to keep my presence firmly rooted in your psyche._

I take a look to the shelf over top of my T.V. and see what looks like a short cricket paddle sitting there. My cheeks blush wildly; the skin on my ass prickles.

_That is my brat paddle and what I will be using on your bare bottom, if I find you have disobeyed me. Instead, I've made it easy for you to behave and have earmarked the sections I want you to read in my book._

Jeez that thing looks deadly. Can't help wondering what it feels like. Second thought don't want to find out—it wasn't very smart, Cas leaving the thing here. It's likely to go missing.

_P.P.S. If by the next time I come home, I should happen to find my brat paddle, lost, misplaced, broken, or defamed in some way, remember, I have many, many others and you will not like the punishment you will receive._

Wow. The guy really does know me—predicting my thoughts before I even have them.

"Is it, Daddy? I wanna see it," Michael says, interested in the letter I'm holding. Thankfully the paddle is up too high for him to see. I hand it to him.

"It's a letter from Cas."

"Cas," he says smiling. I think they had a really good morning together.

"Yep. You wanna know what Cas says?"

He nods.

"Dear Daddy, behave yourself and tell Michael I love him lots and give him this kiss," I say grabbing him up and kissing him all over 'till he's giggling. That about sums it up, doesn't it?

**

When Michael's in bed, I head down to the living room, prepared to spend maybe thirty minutes reading, before my eyes fail me. But once I'm there I'm sidetracked by that thing sitting over the T.V. _Cas didn't say I couldn't touch it._ I look around first, to make sure Cas hasn't been hiding anywhere, then lift it off the shelf carefully. It's got some weight to it. The wood is smooth, solid, flat on both sides with a sturdy handle.

What would this thing feel like on my ass?

I could find out the easy way, just _ask_ Cas to give me a demo, but asking involves _asking_ and I just don't see myself asking for a fucking paddling. There's also the hard way—ignore his decree. Might be fun for all of five seconds until I see how disappointed he is. I sense now's the wrong time to test the waters on that one. It may feel like we've been together a lifetime, but we're new and we're new at this, I want him to know I take this seriously. Besides, in both cases, he'll give me the full meal deal and I only want the fries. Therefore, there's only one plausible option. I pull down my pajama pants (I'm commando) and expose one, poor, lonely little cheek. Oh God. Am I doing this? Yeah, fuck, I'm doing this.

I decide to make it a good one, I haul off and _wham!_ "Fuck! Me!" That fucking sucked. I shove the thing back on the shelf, pull my pants up and rub my ass cheek, glaring at the thing. _That thing's not fucking nice Cas._ I decide to text that to him and jump when I get a reply.

_Are you touching my brat paddle, Brat?_

_I just wanted to see what it felt like._

_Leave it alone, or I will show you what it feels like. You're supposed to be reading._

_Just about to._

_Bed by 9:30._

_What? I don't need a bedtime, Cas._

_I seem to remember you telling me you do. In any case, it's not up for debate. I don't live very far from you and I do have a vehicle._

In other words, he can be here promptly to spank my ass. _You know, Cas, it's been a long day. Don't know if I'll make it 'till 9:30. May even hit the hay by 9._

_Glad to hear it. Goodnight, Winchester._

_Night, Cas._

I take one more look at that paddle and reach for his book. I can tell which are his tags versus Sam's. Sam uses the bright neon pink, green, yellow and orange sticky notes. Cas's are simple pieces of paper, wedged in as a bookmark, with a circled number at the top indicating the order he wants me to read each section; listed on each 'bookmark' is the paragraphs he wants me to read. I yawn and turn to the first bookmark. It's a story about Richard and Peter.

_My husband, the sweet man he is, lives to please and so, by this virtue, he was, is a secret perfectionist. Hence, the trail of unfinished projects in his wake; halting the project at the first hurdle. Yet, he is still your quintessential type A, overachiever. I, on the other hand am what he refers to as, triple type A. I am organized to the max. I'm the lay your work attire out the night before guy. I like order._

_After other failed attempts, we saw Dr. Novak seeking harmony for our differences that were at the root of constant arguments. We liked his 'only one person drives the bus' mentality and it works for us. ~Peter Alberts_

_I work better with deadlines, but the deadline is meaningless to me without consequence. It puts me at ease to have Peter take the lead and provide me with structure. There's a freedom in it. I still have responsibility, but I like knowing someone is there to fall back on. The consequences are like closure for me. I'm a perfectionist by nature. So much so, in the past, if I didn't think I could complete the project perfectly, if there was any chance of failure, I abandoned it; eventually I never did anything; my self-esteem vanished, I became depressed. Thankfully my husband was willing to employ Dr. Novak's techniques. While some might feel confined by the structure, I feel like I can do more. ~Richard Alberts_

Whoa! Richard isn't so perfect. He'd like to be though. Can't deny I identify with Richard some. And fuck. Hearing Cas referred to as 'Dr. Novak' is kinda hot. I palm my cock through my pants then flip to the second bookmark. My eyes are starting to get droopier. It's a chapter titled 'Top: Otherwise Known as Head of House.' He doesn't want me to read the whole damn chapter does he?

 _The first four pages will do, Winchester._ That's what it says below the number heading on the bookmark. Thank fuck.

I read. The chapter on Tops is interesting. I note Sam's notes too—which are revealing. I think my brother is a fucking Top—how did that happen? But Cas's words intrigue me.

_It's not easy being a good Head of House, even if we wouldn't trade it for anything. If you are embarking into the world of being a Top, or are someone who is looking for a Top, there are some things you should know. Loving Tops make rules for the benefit and well-being of their special person, within a relationship that is agreed upon and consented to by both parties, but some members of society will view Tops as abusive, controlling, maniacs. It is baffling to some, why another person would want to give some aspects of their life over to another. No matter how it's explained, some will simply never understand. This is an unfortunate torch the Top must bear. The best things a Top can do: Find other tops and, or create a network to discuss issues together._

I read about Tops to the end of the four pages, but have to keep going another few. This is shit I need to know.

_While a Top's Taken in Hand's ultimate happiness, is important, it is not the Top's obligation, or responsibility to sacrifice their own happiness. It is okay to reap benefits from the relationship too. The Head of House is not a slave to the Taken in hand. Tops have needs too and it is okay to request that those needs be met._

_I often see Tops who feel guilty, feeling that because their partner is 'allowing' them to be in charge, something many eventually admit to liking and wanting, they owe their partner. Always remember, a Top is in charge because their partner wants it. It's okay for Tops to enjoy their role and be proud of it. Be good at being in charge—much appreciated by the Taken in Hand, whether a bottom, a brat, submissive, otherwise or all of the above. The Top must be prepared to make some tough decisions for the home, decisions not everyone will like or agree with. If the Top's authority is wishy-washy, the home will not have faith in the Top; this leads to mutiny and thus chaos, which benefits no one. That being said, it is important to accept that Tops are going to make mistakes. This does not change their role. A good leader admits to his or her mistakes and moves on with plans to do better in future._

_Some new Tops have difficulty understanding why a physical consequence is not available to them when they do make a mistake. But imagine this, how would it feel spanking the President for being naughty? There might be some satisfaction in that, but the view on his leadership would change. This is how all the Taken in Hand I've ever worked with feel. It's weird for them to even imagine spanking or punishing their Top. And it doesn't work. A Top must be seen as Head of House, disciplinarian and loving partner. If the Taken in Hand punishes the Top, their roles have now become the same, the magic of domestic discipline is gone. I know some Tops who have hired disciplinarians or have another Top friend hand out a punishment when they feel they've let their home down, but this is not a necessity, nor does it always work like we think it would. It is a different experience for a Top to get spanked. It doesn't always offer closure, as it does with the Taken in Hand. Closure will come for a Top when they feel they've done right by their partner, which is why I encourage Tops putting their efforts into looking after their partner when they've made a mistake, rather than enlisting for punishment._

Whoa. Why would anyone want to be a Top? It sounds like a tough gig. I'll admit, I did have the thought that they have all the fun bossing people around, but it sounds like they walk around, constantly stressed over the responsibility of their special person. Cas makes being one step ahead of me look easy, because he's freaking flawless at it, but it can't be. I'm the one that gets to have all the fun. He's the one that has to make sure I don't walk out into oncoming traffic, I just have to follow his rules. Sounds fucking stressful and I would know it, that's what I do for Michael. It's what I did for Sam. Makes me think differently on what Cas really does for me.

I'm super tired by the time I hit the last bookmark on which says: _Go to bed if you are tired, Winchester. Read the rest another time._

But I'm so fascinated. This is a good book. The last bit he wants me to read goes:

_Choice to obey. This is fundamental to a domestic discipline relationship. Because that's what it is. The Taken in Hand chooses to obey because it is what they want on a deep level. Reminders may be required for a pouty brat, or a brat throwing a tantrum, even though, when in a rational mind-frame, all parties in the relationship are clear on what works best for everyone. See chapter twelve on maintenance spankings, also related to this topic._

Well fuck. Maintenance spankings. What are those? I've gotta know. I check the time, it's not 'bedtime' yet, but I have already been warned once by Cas (in his helpful notes) to go to bed if tired. That seems a lot of grey area to me, so I flip to chapter twelve. There's a big sticky note there that's not Sam's. It's a standard canary yellow one, from Cas. _Go to bed Winchester._ I can picture his gravelly voice saying that.

But I'm too fucking curious about _Maintenance spankings_ and it's not nine-thirty anyway. That's what I'll tell Cas tomorrow. I'm sure he'll see it my way.

 _Maintenance Spankings_ it says. Cas says. _Maintenance spankings are used to maintain dynamic. They can be scheduled, or simple short spankings given at the behest of the head of house. Not every couple feels they need to employ the maintenance spanking system, but maintenance spankings can be particularly useful; re-establishing roles, keeping the relationship fresh and for when life has interfered with the goals of the relationship. Especially if the couple has children._

_There is no cookie-cutter approach to how couples conduct their maintenance spankings, but typically, it is a weekly meeting, that should not be rescheduled (save emergencies). Enough time should be left for the couple to talk through any issues that may have come up, and any rules that may have been broken that the Head of House was unable to address due to the constraints of life. Punishment is, as always, dictated by the Head of House._

_In addition to strengthening your connection and reaffirming your roles, it could result in less breaking of the rules. Punishment is comfort to the Taken in Hand. They will carry that security with them and feel less apt to spiral into chaos. Another overlooked use for maintenance spankings is as therapy for any issues that are not solved over night. These are best done daily, or nightly; short spankings performed in an intimate manner, over the lap where discussion over the topic at hand occurs, in combination with spanking. Whatever is decided, it should be talked about and researched together, with the ultimate decision made by the Head of House._

Whoa! I've got to talk to Cas about this. Does he want this for us? He hasn't mentioned it. I'm sure he would if it was something he thought we needed. In any case, I should go to bed, but now I want to read the story attached to the section. And fuck, it's pretty close to nine-thirty now. I'll just read it, really fast.

_Finding a true top is harder today than ever, especially if you're a woman looking for a male top. With today's societal constructs, men are taught to snuff that alpha side of them. That's how it was with my man. When I went to him, admitting my desire for a domestic discipline lifestyle, he was more than happy to make me happy, but it was hard for him to release the Top I knew was inside of him. Still, he bravely gave it his best shot for me. Right away, I found that while I was being punished, I couldn't mentally give myself over to the punishment, or to my HOH. I felt too much like I was "letting" him spank me, which essentially I was, because it was a relationship I'd consented too (as Dr. Novak would say, I make the choice to obey), asked for even, so for me it was play; not real. Fake. So I'd test boundaries, wanting to see if he would take me in hand the way I desired. I both wanted and didn't want him to 'lay down the law.' That may sound weird, but that's exactly how I felt. He was afraid of hurting me, which is why he let me get away with pushing him; I was able to 'top him from the bottom,' and I did. I was continually disappointed when he wouldn't step up and take me in hand and would subsequently, get away with rule breaking. It ended in me pushing more and more; he wanted to quit the lifestyle thinking it wasn't working. That's when we sought out Dr. Novak and he suggested maintenance spankings. I'm happy to say they really worked for us! Incorporating it into our weekly routine, has helped us maintain the dynamic with a busy life of kids and work. He makes sure I know he's on top and that this is real, that he has taken the lead in our home. Spanking, not so fun, but disciplined guidance is spectacular! ~Vicky Becks_

I know I'm going to be in trouble, but I'm too fucking curious about this and I'm never going to be able to sleep no matter how tired I am. I call Cas.

"What are you doing out of bed, Winchester? It's nine thirty-five, was I somehow unclear?"

"No, you weren't, sir. But no way was I going to be able to sleep after reading some of chapter twelve."

"Which is why I told you not to read it."

"Well, are we going to do it?"

"What do you think, Winchester?"

"Ummm…I don't know?"

"I'll give you a hint. Have we discussed it?"

"No."

"Then clearly, it's not on the table yet."

"But it says you decide."

"And I do, but not without discussing it with you, to death. You're not my slave."

"Oh."

"Does that disappoint you?"

"I'm not sure. Not the slave part, I don't want to be your slave Cas. I meant the uh, the other thing." I'm not sure how I feel about maintenance spankings yet, except that I'm curious.

"I knew what you meant and I can promise you one thing. You will be getting a spanking for disobeying me."

The reality of that hits me. "Uh, Cas?"

"Yeah, Baby?"

"If you're going to spank me anyway, I'm hiding that thing."

"Winchester don't you dare—"

I click the hang up button and it takes all of five seconds for him to call me back. I answer laughing. "I'm kidding, Cas. My ass will be here ready and waiting for you to spank it."

"You say that now, when I'm not in front of you, but I wonder what you'll say when you find out what I have in store for you. You're in big trouble, Winchester. There is yet another purpose for maintenance spankings that I did not include in that edition of the book, but will be including in the new edition. You will be the lucky one who gets to experience that purpose first hand and before the new edition comes out."

"I was just teasing you Cas."

"You were pushing. Don't deny it. We will discuss this tomorrow evening."

He can't see me, but I'm pouting and frowning at the ground. I didn't mean to go quite this far.

"Winchester? You still there, baby?" His voice is still rough and gravelly, but it's softer.

"I'm still here Cas. I'm sorry, I just… I miss you."

"I know baby, but misbehaving is not going to be a positive way of getting my attention. Didn't my stuff there help?"

Fuck. I didn't even thank him for that. "It did, Cas. That was all really great. I love you. Fuck, I love you. It's, overwhelming. I'm not used to this."

I can hear him smiling through the phone. "You're not alone. I fucking love you too. So get some sleep, okay? That's all you have to do. I'll take care of everything."


	25. A Wrench in the Machinery

I half expected Cas to show up and spank me first thing in the morning. Instead there's just a text, _Good morning, Baby. See you at lunch. Give Michael a kiss for me._

That's it? No 'behave, Winchester?' Or light scolding? I feel jipped, but only for a minute, because I realize Cas's angle. It's already all I can think about. He thinks I'm going to _ask_ him to spank me tonight. If he thinks that, he's got another thing coming. I'm, uh, not going to make any bets on that, but I'm not doing it.

I look up from under the hood to check Michael. He's hard at work, operating on Ironman. He's still not getting enough sleep, given away by the fucking dark circles around his eyes and sallow complexion. Least he looks content for the time being. That's the best I'm going to get for now. There's still something sad tagging along after him. Cas better be right; Sam better be fucking right. Time better put a permanent smile on my kid's face. "How's Ironman, bud?"

"I hafta fix him, Daddy."

"He go out drinking again last night? Tell that guy there's gonna be a curfew from now on."

"Don't you sound responsible?" Benny says. "I remember not so long ago, you were Ironman."

Yeah. Guess it wasn't that long ago. Not that I care, I'd rather have Michael than go out and get shit faced, end up hung over the next day and have to worry about contracting syphilis. Still don't like him saying it. "I still have fun."

"You're completely domesticated now, Winchester. Your idea of a fun is organizing tub toys, or whatever it is parents do." Benny's just teasing me, like I would him, only he's not as good at. He hits a nerve.

"That's not even a thing parents do. Fuck off, Benny."

"Hey, hey. Easy now. I don't mean anything by it. In fact, was gonna ask if you were planning on coming back to poker nights. We're having one Friday."

Poker night is a night of beer, junk food and bad decisions. A lot of hot guys end up at Benny's poker nights. He knows a lot of them. "As you just pointed out, I have a kid." I slam the hood shut and wipe off my hands. _I should change said kid's diaper._

"So? Bring him. He's a Winchester, shouldn't we teach him how to play soon anyway?"

"Way ahead of you. Sammy and I already showed him the ropes. He'll be taking your money in no time flat."

"That's the spirit. Seven, my place. Friday."

 _Seven?_ Doesn't he realize how late that is? I like to get Michael in bed by eight-thirty. I can't say that though. Maybe we can just stop by for an hour… "We'll be there."

I scoop Michael up and make sure to grab Ironman, but I still get complaining. He waves the wrench around he's holding. "Hey! I was playin' that."

"Yeah, you were, now it's time to have your diaper changed and a bottle and naptime," I say as I carry him toward the back room. He's unimpressed, but I've got to get him together. Cas should be here soon to pick him up. The thought makes too many fucking butterflies start swimming around in my stomach. _He wouldn't spank me here would he?_ Yeah. I think he would. But where? I bet him and Bobby have some kind of deal worked out.

All thoughts of Cas and spankings are wiped out of my head, as I watch Michael while I change him. He really doesn't look so good. Is he getting sick again? Last night he woke up twice, which is pretty good as far as it's been going, but his little body is wearing out. I don't think we're going to make poker Friday. Hell, if we just make it to his appointment with the psychologist tomorrow, I'll be happy. When I've got his coveralls off, I reach out to feel his forehead with the back of my hand. "Daddy, stop it."

I laugh at him. _He feels okay._ "What? You don't like anyone fussing over you? Reminds me of someone I know."

"I wanna play with 'renches, Daddy. Was fixing Irunman."

Whoa! He's complaining. That's got to mean something good. I'm parent enough to know that's not the usual thing parents say, but in our case, whenever Michael complains, I'm freaking happy he's comfortable enough to do so. "Sorry, bud. Another day."

His face does that thing it does that I now know means he about to cry any second. Fuck. I move faster. "C'mon Grease Monkey. Another day another dollar."

"Huh-ah-huh-huh…" …crying.

 _Faster, changing diaper faster._ "Blame it all on my roots… I showed up in boots and ruined your black tie affair…"

"I doesn't like that, ah-huh, song, Dad-dy!"

Who doesn't like Garth Brooks? "Uh, how about Star Wars? Buh-baaah-bah-buh-bah-baaah-bah…"

"No!" Crying. "You sucks!" It's crying like, like nighttime crying, but it's daytime. "I want the 'renches, Daddy! Now!"

Holy shit this kid's got lungs for a little guy. "You're having a nap Michael." And you're _holding_ a wrench, I don't add. He's tired. Must be. Anyone who took one look at him would agree with me.

I finally get him taped into his diaper, which is good, because he's having a full on fit and I'm actually a bit worried about that wrench. "Enough kid," I say like I would have to Sammy throwing a fit.

And like I would have, in response to anyone else but Dad saying that to me, Michael says, "Not enough!"

"C'mon, bud. We'll play wrenches again later." I make the mistake of picking him up, as he gets more pissed and continues to wave the wrench around. The wrench comes down, on the side of my fucking skull, right by my eye (why is it always the eye?)

"Fuck!" That's me. He pulls back for a second frustrated swing; I'm going to get it again, if I don't act fast. This time, I'm ready for him and grab the wrench as it comes down, yanking it out of his tiny hand. I have to use the hand I'm holding the wrench in, to put pressure on the throbbing spot, as he cries louder.

"Want that 'rench back! It's mine!"

"Well you're not getting it back. Fuck. Maybe never. Not cool Michael, not cool." His response is more crying and curling into me. That's when Bobby comes running in.

"What's goin' on in here? Balls Dean. You're bleedin'."

"Yeah, could you just, get me a something?"

Benny's next after Bobby. "Need help, brother? Here I can take him if you wanna fix that."

Before I can stop him, he reaches to grab Michael, who lets out a scream like he's being skinned alive. "I got him, Ben. It's okay, just uh, go into his diaper bag, grab me a bottle, would yah?"

I'm getting fucking hot, so I undo my coveralls to the bottom of my torso and let them hang there. Benny's ready to trade me bottle for wrench, he's even got a cloth, so he can wipe my hand down, since it's full of my blood. Michael sees the blood and starts screeching more. Benny's quick, but it feels like forever; him taking the wrench, wiping down my hand and passing me the bottle, all the while Michael screams his head off.

That, did not go how I fucking planned it.

**

My boys are lying on the couch in the break room when I arrive. Michael's laying in Dean's arms, eyes closed, lazily sucking a half-finished bottle in nothing but a shirt and diaper. Dean's coveralls are half-way down his waist, revealing his white tank top. He's holding the bottle for Michael, but his head is back, eyes closed. There's an ice pack strapped to the side of his head, where Michael must have accidentally hit him with the wrench (Bobby and Benny filled me in).

I take a moment to admire Dean. Even asleep, he looks tired, but tired takes nothing away from his rugged edge. His strong biceps and shoulders are firm and Michael looks safe and protected laying within them. Instead of older, the tired makes him look younger; especially with Michael in his arms like that—like a young, new parent. He's got faint five o'clock shadow, which somehow makes his long lashes stand out more. _Dean makes me smile even when he's asleep._

His eyes flutter open, revealing the greens of his eyes and that he forgot where he was. "Cas?"

"Yeah, Baby."

He looks down at Michael, runs a hand through his hair and smiles. "I think my kid's gonna be an axe murderer when he grows up."

"Did he hit you on purpose? I was under the impression it was an accident?"

"I think it was a little bit of both. I think he wanted to hit me, but forgot he was holding the wrench. Cas I… I love him so much I think my heart's gonna explode sometimes, but I was really mad when he did that."

Dean's still looking at Michael, a mountain of love in his eyes. "Dean, it's okay to be upset with him. All parents get upset with their kids one time or another."

"I know. I got mad at Sammy all the time."

"This isn't that much different."

"Feels different. Sucks."

"What do you think is going to happen?"

"I don't know. I just hate being mad at him, he didn't really mean it. He didn't really know what he was doing. He was just tired and lost it."

"No, but you have to make sure he knows."

"I'm going to, Cas. I just wish it never happened. Do you think this is what Sammy was talking about? He said Michael would start testing me eventually."

"Indubitably."

"No one says 'indubitably' anymore, Cas."

"I just did. I'm bringing it back like Paula Abdul."

He smiles. "She's not coming back either, dude."

"I know, but it got a smile out of you, was worth it."

"I'm sorry, Cas. Everything's just so fucked up right now. I-I been thinkin'. You know what Sammy and I never had growing up?"

I can make a few guesses, but I sense he needs to say it. "What?"

"Stability. Certainty."

"Michael's going to have lots of stability and certainty Dean."

"Yeah, but right now, he needs more than I'm giving him. He needs my full attention. Dad didn't have the means to do that, but I do."

"If you think you're about to break up with me, just to get out of the spanking you have coming tonight, you're sorely mistaken."

That eases the tension that has been building. Dean chuckles softly. "No way, Cas. If I'm going to pull fatherhood off, I need you. My first idea was quitting my job and getting Sammy to help out. Bobby wouldn't let me do that. Instead, I'm going to take on a different role, I'm, I'm going to take over Bobby's shop like he asked me to. That means I won't always be working on cars. I think Michael likes it here. I don't want to take that away from him—he can still come here."

"That sounds like a good plan."

He nods. "It's the best plan for Michael. Before that happens, I'm taking some time off."

I can almost taste the apprehension. "How much time?"

"Long as it takes. Sam's going to help."

He means financially. If I thought for a second Dean would let me help him financially, I would offer. "Okay."

"I sent him a text."

"A text?"

"I chickened out, okay?"

If he wasn't about to fall apart, I'd be laughing. "Out of curiosity, what did your text say?"

"Need money. He responded, okay."

_Winchesters._

"I fucking hate it, Cas. I'd rather sell my left kidney on EBay. I'm not going to take much. Hopefully none at all. It's just back up really. Bobby insisted I use some saved vacation and sick days first, then I'll dip into my savings and if I still need more, there's Sammy."

He's talking to me, but staring at Michael again like he's thinking: _Will it be enough to help you get better?_

Poor Winchester. This is hard for him, but he's doing it for his kid. Michael's got the world's best daddy. "Okay, Winchester." It's time for me to take over. "Give him here."

Dean slips the half-finished bottle from Michael's lips and I scoop my arms under him and pull him to me. Dean leans back and puts pressure on the ice pack strapped to his head. "Does it still hurt?"

"My head is pounding."

"Bobby didn't have any Tylenol?"

Deans shrugs.

"Winchester," I say as menacingly as I can, while holding Michael and not waking him.

"I didn't want to take it, okay."

"Not okay. When did you suddenly stop believing in big-pharma?"

Silence.

"Dean."

"I fucking deserved it. There you happy? Accident or not, I deserved Michael taking a swing at me with a wrench. I shoulda done all of this in the first place, like everyone kept saying, but I had to push and push—act like Dad. If I had listened to you and Sam and everyone, this never would've happened."

Oh no. He's not doing that; going there on my watch. "It's my job to punish you, not yours. Go get some Tylenol. _Now._ " He needs as much firmness as I can give him. _So many tough decisions for him in one afternoon after being bludgeoned by his three-year-old son._

He glares at me as he removes the ice pack from his head and heaves himself off the break room's couch, a lot like a sullen teen would. He ties the arms of his coveralls around his waist and moves over to the first aid kit on the table. Many of the items are pulled out, askew over the tabletop. He pulls out some Tylenol and knocks two back, without water then looks at me, defeated. "Take us home, Cas."

**

Michael's still out when we arrive back at Winchester headquarters, so we lay him on the bed and make our way downstairs. Dean's eye is blackening, but the swelling isn't terrible. "Can you stop looking at me like you're dissecting me, Cas? Yeah, I was freaking out before, but the moment you showed up things started to…you know, get calmer, or something."

I raise my eyebrows. "I'm not buying what you're selling." He probably believes it himself. I was going to wait 'till later to do this, was going to get him to admit he should be spanked for his behavior last night, but with the way things have played out for him today, it's better he gets out of his head and that I do it for him. His thinking is spiraling down, down, down. A spanking is a great pattern interrupt. Especially for Dean. "Go get my brat paddle, please."

"What? But Cas, uh, it's lost."

"No it's not. If it is, we can add that to your list of misdemeanors, you have a couple."

"You know, I think I recall where you left it, I'll uh, I'll be right back."

If he's like any other brat I know, he'll take his sweet time, which means I have enough time to remove my jacket, roll up my sleeves and pull out a kitchen chair. As usual, I'm right. I'm ready, waiting for him and he's still nowhere in sight. "It's about as good of an idea to keep me waiting, as it was to hang up on me last night," I call loud enough he can hear me in the other room.

That makes him appear pretty fast. He's damn cute, looking all shy, still wearing his rust-brown leather jacket. He never did put on a t-shirt over his white tank top; I can't wait to see his thick muscles again. "Right here, Cas. Here, see? Not a scratch. Would have polished her up for you, if I was allowed to touch."

"You're not allowed to touch unless I specifically say to, now give it here." I take it from him and place it on the floor where his hands will be as he watches me carefully. "You should probably be removing your jacket."

"Oh. Right." He takes off his jacket and slings it over one of the other chairs. "Are we gonna, talk first?" he asks not daring to come one step closer to me.

"I think chatting with you is much more effective over my lap." I crook my finger at him.

"Aw, Cas." He does creep closer, but I have to reach out and pull him to me. I unbutton his jeans for him and pull them straight down to his ankles then surprise him, but pulling him over my lap, so he doesn't have to do it. Dean's mentioned a few times how he'd rather not; if he's comfortable with me taking charge, then so am I. Dean's not afraid to tell me what he doesn't like. I just don't want to scare him away. I've never loved two people like I love Dean and Michael.

I immediately start spanking him over his boxers. He broke a rule, _knowingly,_ there's not much to talk about on that one, but there's nothing wrong with a little reinforcement. "Ow, ow, ow! Cas. Not so hard."

"Remind me, which of our rules did you break this time?" I don't let up and continue the spanking, as he writhes and squeezes his cheeks.

"I, ah! I didn't go to bed, fuck, when you told me to and pretty much said fuck you to the, _fuck,_ rule altogether."

"That wasn't," smack, smack, "a good," smack, smack, "idea." See? He knows. "Lift up."

"Nooo, c'mon Cas. I've learned my lesson."

"Not nearly."

He groans, but lifts up and I pull his boxers straight down to join his jeans. I start in on his bare bottom, fast with solid smacks, alternating each cheek. "I think there was something else too." Smack, smack, smack, smack…

"H-hung up on you. That was rude and I was just being a…a brat. I'll never fucking do that again Cas."

 _Sure he won't._ "Good." I keep going 'till Dean's writhing reaches dramatic, then I rub for him; I can hear sniffles. "Are you okay?"

"I'm okay, Cas." Sniffle.

"I give you permission to touch _my_ brat paddle, so you can hand it to me."

"Aren't you," sniffle, "generous."

"You were the one, so interested in it last night you tried it out on yourself," I smirk.

I hold my hand out for the paddle, which he passes me reluctantly. "I'm not going to be able to sit down."

"No you won't. That's the point. If you want to blatantly ignore rules, by all means do, but there will be this consequence waiting for you."

"Okay, Cas. I'm sorry."

"Okay, who?"

"Sir. I'm sorry, sir."

"Better. I thank you for your apology." I take the paddle from him. "To my knowledge, you've never been spanked with a paddle before."

"No, but Dad's used his belt and even a wooden spoon. I know what's up."

"Never-the-less, I'm going to give you a number. You will receive twenty now and ten before bed."

"Ten before bed?"

"Remember that third use for maintenance spankings I spoke of? To maintain effect of discipline."

"My ass is on fire, sir. Do we really need to maintain the effect?"

"But you were so excited to learn last night. So excited, you decided to disobey the rules."

He groans, again.

"It will be good for us baby, we can experience this form of maintenance spanking together and see if it's right for us. Ready?"

"Yes, sir."

I don't whack with as much pressure as I could, it's still greeted with a "mother fucker!" He kicks his feet so hard, he almost falls off my lap. I wait 'till he stops kicking, then rearrange us, putting one of my legs over his legs, trapping them there. "Wait, what are you doing?"

"Helping."

"You, or me?"

"Both of us. This will go much faster without all the theatrics."

"Theatrics? It hurts."

"It's about to hurt a lot more." I rub his back. "Which will be good for you, Baby. Today was a big day. Let go." I don't think there's anything wrong with the spanking having dual purpose. This is a punishment for him, but the spanking will still bring to surface all of his feelings, including the ones about the hard decisions he's made today, whether he wants them to be there are not. He's holding everything in, like he usually does. _I should have made that decision for him._ Then he wouldn't be tormented by it.

"Y-yes, sir. I can do that." _He wants to. He just needs the excuse to._

I have to squeeze my legs tight to hold onto his. I give him short breaks after every five and rub. He's crying and complaining, but he makes it through, just like a Winchester does: Stubbornly, bravely. I reach across and lay the paddle down on the kitchen table, so I can rub his sore bottom, my legs still squeezing his, offering protection; safety. "Are we clear about the rules? Who makes them and who follows them?"

"Yes. I'm so clear, we never need that thing again, Cas. Let's burn it. I've got matches and salt."

"Salt?"

"Uh, I'm pretty sure things burn faster with salt."

"Burn my paddle and your backside will be burning for a week." I stand him up and help him back into his clothes then pull him over to the couch where it's more comfortable to cuddle. I pull him down to me. He hisses when his sore bottom comes in contact with the couch cushions, but buries further into me. He continues to cry and I squeeze him. "You should have made me do this sooner, Cas. I thought that was your role? Making me do the smart shit I avoid doing, so it doesn't get to the point my three-year-old son axe murders me."

I kiss his forehead. "I know Baby. I'm sorry." I don't bother with excuses like, 'we're new,' or remind him that he wanted to be 'eased in.' We've been on the advanced track since the beginning. I plan on talking with him about it later though. "That won't be happening anymore, I can assure you Winchester."

"Do your job, Cas."

"Do you want an additional ten at bedtime?"

"No. About that. I've totally, completely learned my lesson. You say it, it happens. I don't think I need anymore punishment."

"Well I say you do and bedtime is nine o'clock tonight, by the way, to make up for last night."

"Jeez, you're strict," he grouses, but his whole body relaxes.

"He's not going to axe murder you. It was an outburst Dean. We don't know how he grew up. Perhaps it's learned, or perhaps it's just him being three and not knowing how to handle the giant feelings inside of him. He's been through a lot for a creature so small."

"I love you Cas. I love you. How do you do that? Say a few words, make me feel like a million bucks? You're amazing, babe."

"I'm amazing now am I? I'm sure that's not what you were thinking a moment ago."

"Depends on which moment we're talking. That paddle stings like a son of a bitch. I officially have a vendetta against that thing. If something should accidentally happen to it—"

"Nothing's going to accidentally happen to it."

"If, I said _if._ You never know, Cas."

"I do know, Winchester. I know that it's mine and you're not permitted to touch it. It will stay in one place and you may fetch it upon my request, only. I've already told you what will happen if you choose to do otherwise."

"All I'm saying is, the house could catch fire and there's no way I'm running back in to save it, I'm letting it burn to ash. If _that_ happens, I'm not mourning its death."

That's funny. I love how funny Dean is. I smile above his head. "Okay, Baby. Fair enough."

**

My eye is officially black. Fuck. I look like shit. I feel pretty great though. It's hard to explain how I can feel so great when my ass is still smarting. I do. I feel warm. Like someone's got my back. Not that I haven't felt that before. I know my brother has my back. This is a different way. I bask in the content.

Michael's awake. He's sitting up on our bed, rubbing at his eyes. _He doesn't look like an axe murder._ I don't know what kind of a response I'm going to get. _Will he remember what he did? Do three-year-olds feel remorse?_ I remember being at a barbeque Sam and Gabe held awhile back, when the twins were about Michael's age. Matt kicked Logan and Logan was freaking. Matt got sent to time-out, with the stipulation he could come out when he was ready to apologize to his brother. You'd think he'd just do that right away, but he didn't. He'd scream 'no!' every time he was asked. He was in time-out awhile until finally, he did apologize, but it was pretty clear he was just doing it to get out of time-out. I don't think he cared. I'm not sure they do at they're age now. They're pretty mature for their age I've heard people comment and I know they're really good with Michael, but they have their moments. _I hope to fuck that's all it was for Michael. A moment._

Sam laughed at me on the phone. I called him to further explain my earlier request (Cas made me) and I got to explaining the whole 'happening.' Sam laughed. Actually laughed during my time of crisis. "Sorry, Dean. But you're such a Dad now. It's completely normal for you to jump to the worst possible conclusion of whatever your kid does. Gabe and I do it all the time and it always turns out to be nothing."

"I'm sure that's what the Menendez parents said too."

More laughter. "Sammy," I growled.

"Sorry, Dean. Michael's not a sociopath, or whatever thing you think is going to happen. It's more than likely whatever thing Cas has already told you it is."

Of course Sam ended up being in one thousand percent support of my most recent plan, ready to transfer as much money as I needed into my account yesterday. "Hold the phone lone ranger," I said.

"That doesn't even make any sense, Dean."

"It makes perfect sense to me. I'll tell you if I actually _need_ the money before you come along to white knight me. You're a back-up plan. _Back-up._ Plan B. Not even. You're plan Z. That means you only get called in if needed. A last resort. I'm okay for now."

"Okay, I'll accept that Dean if you're able to answer yes to one question."

I should have said no. "Does Cas agree with this plan?"

 _I should never have got him to read that book. Know-it-all-Toppy-type._ "I haven't…haven't talked with him about the details yet."

"I think you're supposed to."

"Thank you, Hermione Granger."

"I knew you watched the movies."

"I told you, it was purely an Alan Rickman fascination, because he was bad-ass in Die Hard and I had a crush on him. I watched all of his movies."

"Sure Dean. But back to the topic you want to avoid: Talk to Cas."

"Or else what?" I said for him. I could feel it hanging there.

"Or else I'm telling," he said cheekily, just like he did when we were little. Our relationship has a few levels. I'm the big brother, I look out for him(except for this borrowing money bullshit), but there always was and always will be our sibling behaviors. When I'd get him to do things he knew Dad would want him to do anyway, he'd usually obey without argument, knowing Dad would be on my side if he took it to court, judge Dad residing. But if it was anything in a grey area, he'd threaten to tell on me, just like all little brothers do. He was being my annoying dick, younger brother.

'Cause thing is, I don't want to talk to Cas about this money lending thing and he knows it. I can make my own decision on this one…and I'm fucking scared Cas will tell me to take the money right now. I'm not ready for that. I've made the decision to get help from Sam if I need it. Actually getting help is a whole other story.

Now I gotta talk to Cas before he does and somehow convince Cas to see it my way. Not happening tonight.

Michael's sucking on his soother, dark hair mussed all over the place, looking a lot better than he did earlier. Maybe he's not sick. The kid just needs sleep. A fuck ton of it. I hope the psychologist can be helpful on that end. His first appointment is tomorrow. _How much is that going to fucking cost?_

I approach him carefully, scanning the area for hidden wrenches. "You hungry, big guy?" I ask as I immediately begin stripping his pants off, so I can change his diaper.

He points at my eye. "Ouch, Daddy?"

"Yeah, that's where Michael hit Daddy with the wrench, remember?"

"We can play with the wrenches, Daddy?"

I would laugh that all he cares about is wrenches, like a three-year-old does, but I'm busy being a bit scared to tell him no. Only for a second. I'm pretty sure that's how you turn your kid into an axe murderer, being scared to tell them no. _Show no fear, Winchester._ "I don't think so. You hit Daddy with the wrench. They get taken away."

He pops his soother out. "Taken, away?"

"Away, dude."

"Okay, Daddy."

I have to laugh at him. Just like that, it's all over. I'm relieved. A little sleep works fucking magic on little people. I guess it's the same for big people too, we're just expected to have more social grace even when fucking tired. When he's changed and dressed, I snatch him up and throw him into the air and get a big laugh from him. "I love you, buddy."

**

Turns out Cas was serious about going to bed early and being spanked before that happened. "Did you not see me standing at dinner, Cas?"

"I have perfect sight in fact."

I was instructed to get ready for bed and meet him in the living room. He's not ready for bed, which I'm certain he's done on purpose. He's staying the night and we usually go to bed together when he does, but he's making a point. I'm the naughty boy who disobeyed curfew last night. I'm the only one going to bed at nine freaking o'clock. He did change out of his work clothes before dinner. He's casually dressed in a t-shirt and jeans, his scruffy Cas-hair, messed just perfect on the top of his head, blue eyes soft and hard at the same time. "Did you bring what I asked?"

He knows I did. He graciously allowed me to touch _his_ 'brat paddle' again (aren't I lucky?) so I could bring it to him. He decided it will sit on top of the fridge for now. "Yeah, yeah."

"Excuse me?"

"Yes, sir." I hand it to him, happy to not be touching the thing anymore. Unfortunately, it's soon to be touching my bare, sore ass.

He lays it on the coffee table and pulls me between his legs. "As we've been over, this is a type of maintenance spanking. As I mentioned earlier, yet another function of maintenance spankings, is to maintain the effect of the punishment, in addition to that, spankings can be given in this fashion when a spanking is likely to go beyond the endurance of the brat. I knew thirty with my paddle would be beyond your endurance, so we've saved ten for now."

"You saved them."

"I saved them. If ten is still too many, we can do five now and five tomorrow."

"No way, Cas. I want this done. Over." I already hated having the ten hanging over my head through dinner. But he was right, dammit, he always it—I couldn't have taken anymore after the twenty earlier. I'm a little worried I can't take ten more.

"That's not up to you though, is it? If it's too many, it's too many. Not to worry Winchester, your spanking endurance is likely to build. I'm sure you'll be taking a solid fifty with my paddle in no time."

Fifty? He chuckles at what my face must look like. "I think this was a good learning experience. You wanted to know what my paddle felt like and what maintenance spankings were all about. We'll have just enough time to chat about it, afterward." He turns me and pulls down my pajama pants (I'm sans boxers) I'm still trapped between his legs.

"I want to do something different. I want you to remain standing while I spank you. Can you do that?"

"Standing?"

"Yes, with your hands on your head."

The thought is, shameful. Humiliating. My fucking cock likes it. Thank god it's still covered. "Uh, yeah Cas."

"Okay, Winchester. Hands on your head. Don't move them."

I feel nervous anticipation in my belly and cool air on my derriere. "Have you deciphered when I like to pull out my 'brat paddle'?"

That's an easy one. "When I'm being a brat."

"That's right." To accentuate that point, he uses said paddle on my poor ass, twice. I have to squeeze my fingers to keep them from reaching back. "Tell me the other reason you were disciplined earlier."

"My memory's not that bad Cas. I remember. Do I have to say it again?"

He puts the paddle down and smacks my ass with his hand several times, until I'm twisting between his tight legs. Holy shit he's strong. "Okay, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I didn't go to bed when I was supposed to."

"I think there's a bit more to that."

I sigh not looking forward to the spanks that are going to come after I say it. "I broke the rule on purpose." I learned today just how much he hates that. "A rule we made together."

"That's right. It's your job to follow the rules and my job to see to the consequences if you do not follow them." Three sharp whacks come down on my exposed bottom with his paddle again. I'm able to hang on through the first two whacks, telling my brain, _it's only pain, only a little spanking,_ but then my brain figures out I'm a lying son of a bitch. "Ow!" My hands fly back blocking my ass from Cas's paddle. He stops and places the paddle beside him.

"Good job, Winchester. You did well," he says removing my hands and rubbing for me.

"It's over?"

"You've still got five more coming. We'll do them tomorrow."

"No, please. I can do it. I'm fine Cas." I want it to be done.

He looks me over, then picks up his paddle again. "Okay, brace yourself then, Winchester."

Hands back on my head, I hold tight, as he finishes quickly. At the end of the final five, he's quick to place the paddle down and rub for me. "Mmmm, that feels good, babe."

He pulls up my pajama pants and yanks me to him, in the manhandling way I love. "Thanks, Cas."

He laughs loudly at me. Why's everyone laughing at me today? "What gives, Cas?"

"You're like a scared little squirrel at the sight of that thing, but afterward you purr like a kitten. I don't mean to laugh at you. I love it."

"I'm none of those things."

"If you say so, Winchester. All right, time for you to tell me your thoughts. What did you think about being spanked like that?"

"I don't like having spankings I have to wait for."

"I can appreciate that, no brat does. Can you see any merit in it for you?"

"I want to say no, otherwise I have a feeling this is becoming a thing, but I don't think I can without lying. This is probably not a good time for lying, is it?"

"Definitely not a good time for lying and no one said it's becoming anything. It's just a question. We're discussing."

"As much as I didn't like having another spanking to wait for, I felt comforted by it," I admit.

"Hard to say if that comfort came from the idea of a maintenance spanking, or just multiple spankings, which is why I didn't add that definition to my earlier edition. But for those who don't have endurance for long spankings, it's helpful. This spanking wasn't that long, but the item I used was new. I broke the spanking up for demonstration purposes and to ease you into your first paddling. I thought it might be a bit much for you."

"You say that like there's going to be another one."

"There are going to be many. There have been multiple times I wanted to paddle you and had we been in the relationship longer, I would have."

Well that's not good. "Nope. I'm going to be so good. No rule breaking here."

He doesn't look like he believes me. "I think it would have been better to prolong some 'till tomorrow, then we would have really seen what that felt like."

"If you thought that was better, then why'd you let me Cas? What happened to, 'you don't punish you Winchester, I do?" I say doing my best Cas imitation.

Now it's his turn to clam-up. "You're right Winchester, you're absolutely right. I've been using kid gloves with you because I'm terrified you're going to tell me to hit the road; that you don't want to do this. In our initial conversation, you said you wanted to take it slow, but we're on speed and I'm worried it will suddenly be too much for you."

"I did say I wanted to go slow, but I'm a quick learner and I'm liking this Cas. So much. I love looking out for other people, but it's fucking nice having someone look out for me. You can, uh, take the gloves off now. I'm all yours, babe." Fuck. I'm going to see a lot more of that paddle, aren't I?

"Okay, let's…I'm going to test that." He has to take a deep breath. "You're not going to the poker game Friday, Dean."

That makes me blush for some reason. Why should that be embarrassing? It is though. "Can I ask why? And hey, how did you find out about that?"

"Benny invited me too. And of course you may ask why. You can ask anything, always. The answer is simple, it's not what's best for you and Michael. You can't take him to that—it'll be a nightmare for both of you."

I was already thinking that, especially in light of the wrench incident. That was a crazy idea.

"I know you would have eventually come to the conclusion on your own, but this is me looking ahead into my crystal ball for you."

"You can't watch him for me?" I wonder out loud. I can't help feeling there's a little more to this.

"It did cross my mind, but Michael and I have a specific routine for daytime. There's no nighttime one yet. If you went out and he woke up, I'm not sure Cas would be good enough."

"Makes sense and what else?" It's my turn to cross my arms at him. I don't do it for long though. I get a look, _the look_ that says to uncross my arms at him, fast. I do and pretend I was just putting them behind my head.

"I told you Dean. I'm very jealous. It's my flaw. I wouldn't feel comfortable with you going. Not when I don't know anyone except Benny. I'm still getting used to Benny."

Poor Cas. He's tormented by this. I don't like the look on his face. He's always making me feel good, time for me to work my Dean magic. I lay my head in his lap, so I'm looking up at him with the eyes that probably convinced him to finish that spanking earlier, against his better judgment. "Cas, your possessive jealous streak is kinda hot. I can handle it. I'm Dean fucking Winchester. Besides, if I don't like what you have to say, I'll tell you to stuff it."

"You will?"

Ooh. Unimpressed. Very unimpressed. Too far. "I mean, I'll politely discuss it with you. I don't want you to feel uncomfortable—half of them do want to sleep with me. It's one of the places I used to go to hook up."

"That does not help."

"Look, I think I realized today that poker nights are over for Dean, at least for a long while. Only a couple of the guys are good friends anyway. We can have them over for a barbeque, or something some night. I'd like them to meet Michael…and my new boyfriend."

Then it fucking happens. Cas blushes. Cas. Big bad Cas blushes because of me. I feel like I've just climbed a fucking mountain. "I think that would be best."

I hop up and straddle him, stretching the skin of my tender ass, but _fucking it all,_ because I need to kiss him. I press my lips to his. "Thank you, Winchester. I love you. You're perfect."

"I'll tell him I'm not allowed to go because my boyfriend forbids it. Somehow, I think Benny would find that hot too."

That gets me a firm hand digging into the hot skin of my ass, Cas having slipped his hand down my pants. "I don't care what Benny finds hot, but you can tell him I forbid it; I have no qualms with that."

I push my cock, which is hard from all this 'forbidden fruits' talk into his chest. "I can't wait to see the look on Benny's face."

"Aren't you worried he'll…think I'm abusing you? Jealousy is considered by most an abusive trait."

"Sorry, Cas, but the idea of you abusing me is laughable. I don't think you'd abuse a housefly. It's only abuse if I'm affected negatively by it. If I'm being coerced. I'm just respecting one of your discomforts. By choice."

He smiles. "I see it the same way." A tear makes its way down his face. Just one. Holy shit. Cas crying.

"Don't cry, Cas."

"It's a happy tear, Dean. I'm so happy I found you." He wipes his own tear away and stands, which means I have to stand with him. "It's time for bed, love."

"You weren't serious about that were you? It's too early for bed. You spanked me, twice. And I'm not working tomorrow, now…I'll make it worth your while."

Cas's 'soft' moment is over. I think soft-Cas is about to become a figment of my imagination from this point forward. "Bed. Now, Winchester. Or I'll decide that three times is lucky."


	26. Big Brothers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! This chapter came fast! I've been waiting to write this chapter since the beginning of the story. Ah...relief. This was in my head that long! I hope it turned out as good in written form as it plays out in my head. 
> 
> As you may have noticed, there is now a finite number of chapters to this story. I'm giving a 5 or 6 chapter plus epilogue **warning.** But never fear! I have some ideas for TS AND there's a possibly for a sequel. Sadly, the storyline for this story is wrapping up, BUT there is plenty of DD to still explore and we can! Still more coming up too!

I wake up to a sunny day, no alarm, but also no kid and no Cas. Someone fucking stole my kid and my Cas while I was asleep. I rub my tired eyes as I sit up and feel remnants of that fucking paddle. The thought of Cas spanking me with it makes my stomach squirm, but not necessarily a bad kind of squirm. I want to avoid it, but wouldn't want it not to be there. The squirm I mean.

Logic sets in, I'm sure no one's kidnapped Cas, no one could. They'd have to beat him in a stare down and I'm not sure that's possible. Plus, he'd pull out his scary fucking paddle and they'd run. I know I'm going to next time. I hum that song Sam was talking about, the one about _His Kiss_ because I'm feeling all googly-tits over Cas. I forget the damn words, I only know the tune. I'd totally let Cas kidnap me if he was a pirate and 'let him' 'make me' have sex with him. That's what I'm thinking about as I hum and throw a tank on with jeans. I noticed the way Cas was looking at my biceps last time I was in a tank.

Entering the kitchen, I get the best greeting ever. Cas has his black slacks and white, long-sleeved shirt on, complete with tie, ready for work. Michael is standing on a chair, Ironman at his side, helping Cas make breakfast; I can smell fresh coffee. When Michael sets eyes on me, they brighten like stars and he scurries to get down from the chair. "Daddy!" he says running to me. Ironman is left on the counter.

"Hey big guy!" I scoop him up. "What you doing?" He's smiling and everything. Who is this kid?

"We're making Daddy breakfast. Michael likes to do anything involving his daddy," Cas says.

"That so? You like making stuff for me?"

"Yeah!" he giggles. This can't be the same kid that hit me with a wrench yesterday. Man, this is starting out to be a pretty fucking good day—hope this lasts straight through to his appointment with the psychologist. I had to send in a fucking long form I got Sam to fill out for me.

"Here Winchester, put that on the table," Cas says handing me a plate of buttered toast as he scrambles eggs. I bring Michael with me and set him down in his seat. From the way the toast looks, I can tell Michael buttered it. It's freaking cute with clomps of butter in various places.

"Hey where's Irunman?" Michael says.

Cas hears and sends him sailing through the air. I catch him and hand him over to Michael. Michael starts chatting to him, while I go see if I can help Cas bring more stuff over to the table, or better, snag me a cup of coffee. He hands me a mug done the way I like it. I kiss his lips. "G'morning Cas," I say, shy as fucking hell. There's something about him this morning. He seems more Cas-like.

"Morning Baby."

"What's the plan for today?" I kiss him again just because I can.

"I'm going to take Michael with me."

My bubble pops. "Way…what? You are?"

"I am. We should keep the routine going. He was doing really well being away from you and we don't know what's going to happen when you go back. If we keep this routine, it's possible he'll be able to stay with Sam and Gabe's nannies, or at least let us keep switching off with him. Best thing for everyone is to keep routine."

"I might as well go into work for the morning if the alternative is me sitting at home with a thumb up my ass."

"You're right. You could go into work, but you're not going to."

"I'm not?"

"No. You're going to get much needed rest," he says. "Or another spanking," he adds in my ear.

"You're so bossy."

"I am," he says without apology and another kiss to my lips. He hands me a plate of bacon.

"Well this sucks. I feel like I’m in time-out, or something." I bring the bacon to the table.

"You're not in time-out. I'll make sure you know when you are," he smirks.

_Stupid bossy, Cas._

"Then he's kissin' him Irunman," I hear Michael giggle.

"You saw Daddy kissing Cas did you? That okay?"

"Yeah. We likes, Cas." He reaches his arms out to me though. I get it. He might like Cas, Daddy can kiss Cas, but he's the boss of all that. He's number one. Fucking rights.

"You wanna eat with Daddy before you go to work?" I grab him up and sit him in my lap. Cas brings the eggs over, along with his coffee mug. And leave it to fucking Beaver, Batman, it's a homey, happy breakfast this morning at Winchester Place.

**

"We is hanging, Cas?"

"We is, my lad."

As per my plan, getting Michael out of the house was relatively easy. It wasn't without complaint from both Winchesters, but with a little coaxing I was able to get him into his stroller—we also had to get Dean to pretend he was asleep upstairs and I had to get him to stop looking at me with his pouty face, but I did it. Once we arrived at the coffee shop, Michael didn't seem to notice that Daddy wasn't here, for about five minutes, then he asked a question about him every five minutes.

He's glued to me, decked out in his little apron. He follows behind me wherever I go. He did so well at the 'till, I've decided to have him give serving tables a go. We stuffed Ironman into the front pocket of his apron and he's carrying a plate with a slice of banana bread on it, sucking away at his soother. He's the cutest barista's assitant in the whole world.

"Thank you my lad. Give the banana bread to Mrs. Farstead." Mrs. Farstead is a sweet, white-headed, curly-haired lady who's here almost everyday at this time.

"Hello there sweetheart. Whatcha got for me?"

Michael looks at me, but holds the plate up to her, shyly. "Thank you, dear," she says accepting it. Michael runs to my leg and puts his arms around it. I put her coffee down in front of her and scoop him up setting him on my hip. He curls in.

"Cas, where's my, 'a-nana bread?"

"We'll get you some."

"Did you steal that boy, Castiel? If you did, tell me where I can get one, my dang kids won't have me any grandkids."

"Sort of. This is my boyfriend's son, Michael. I guess you could say he's on loan."

She laughs. "Well Michael can deliver me banana bread anytime. I might order another slice just to have him visit with little ol' me."

"You hear that kid? You're helping me increase sales." I bring Michael up to the counter again and get him settled with some banana bread, when two familiar faces walk in. "Heya Cas. Oh look, you ditched the big guy. Good call," Gabe says.

Sam shakes his head fondly. Michael's head turns, when he sees Sam, he points and smiles, but looks to me. "Why don't you say hi to your uncle Sammy?"

Thankfully it's slow in here, because Michael stands up on my pristinely clean counter with his shoes on. He holds his arms out for Sam, my stomach flutters with excitement. I can't wait to tell Dean he went to Sam, so readily. "Sammy," Michael says.

"Hey favorite nephew," he says squishing Michael to him for a hug. Sam's dressed in his fancy, Armani looking suit he wears for work. Michael still has his sticky banana bread in one hand, somehow, Sam manages not to get any on his special duds. That must be one of the skills you learn having twins. "How about a kiss for Uncle Gabe," Sam tries.

"Cas!" Michael says, diving back toward me, across the counter. I catch him and hook him onto my side.

"Wow, he's sure grown attached to you. You must have a way with kids," Sam says.

I smile at Michael and kiss his head. I'm not bad with kids. I guess I could even admit to being 'good' with them, but no kid has ever been quite like Michael with me. Not even my own nieces and nephews. For whatever reason, Michael seems to have picked me. I won't let him down. Michael quietly starts eating his banana bread again, when he's sure he's safe with me. I'm wearing an apron, so the crumbs that escape the bread, end up on the apron instead of my white shirt. "What can I get you two?"

"I'll have one of the croissant-things Dean can't shut up about," Gabe says. "And a coffee."

"I'll take a lemon square. Coffee too, but can you make the coffees to go? We don't have a lot of time. We both have to get to work."

"Of course. Kid-free minutes?"

Sam and Gabe exchange a fond look. "Yeah. We sneak in those minutes wherever we can. It's important. That's why we get Dean to babysit one Saturday a month. Oh, but tell Dean not to worry about this month, which would have been this Saturday. We know he's got a lot going on."

"Dean was supposed to watch the kids this Saturday?"

"Well, according to our pre-determined schedule," Sam explains. "But he's got so much going on, he likely forgot. Like I said though, don't worry about it."

I shake my head. "No, no. Bring the kids by Dean's. I'll help him."

"You sure Casarino?"

"Gabe. Not everyone has to have a ridiculous nickname. You sure Cas?"

"I'm sure."

"Okay, great. We'll totally repay the favor too, when Michael will stay with us."

"He will," I assure Sam. Everyone worries about Michael, me included.

Michael's eyeing Sam. I think he's interested in his uncle. "Daddy kisses Cas," he shares with his uncle Sammy.

We all laugh. "I bet he does. They're gonna be making out on the couch Saturday night, aren't they?" Sam asks Michael.

"Kissing," Michael agrees.

"That reminds me, would you be able to bring an extra copy of your book Saturday, Cas? I'd like Gabe to read it."

He would, would he? "You don't have to wait 'till Saturday. I've got some here."

**

I decide to fancy myself up. I haven't felt so refreshed and well rested since Michael showed up on my doorstep. Sorry but it's true. I love the kid more than I love Metallica, which is saying a lot, but he's not good for the old sleep-meter.

I spritz on my sexiest cologne and throw an army green button-up over my white t-shirt, rolling up the sleeves to show off my forearms. I'm dolling myself up for Cas, but I figure, it can't hurt to look good for Michael's therapist today too. That's when I hear something on the porch. It's that fucker who's been smoking on my porch, isn't it? I told Cas about the whole guy smoking on my porch thing over breakfast; we're installing cameras this weekend, but I have a feeling, I'm about to find out who's been smoking on my porch without any technical aides. This time, I'm smart. I don't have Michael, so I'm thinking a little more rationally. I hop out the bedroom window, quietly and just as quietly, shimmy down the roof, Tarzan my way onto the tree that sits outside our second story window and down onto the back lawn. Easy.

Then I creep around the side of the house to see what jerk is impersonating a chimney on my fucking porch. I already have a picture of him in my head. He looks like a biker dude, maybe a bit like Dwayne 'the rock' Johnson if he were a biker due wearing a leather jacket and sunglasses. He'd be leaning on the porch, smoking like he doesn't care. Like he's waiting for Wesley Snipes to meet up with him. And yeah, of course this Dwayne look-a-like is Nick in my mind. I know it's got to be Nick. Fucking asshole Nick who sneaks into my fucking house and who left my fucking kid on the porch all alone, all night.

Well I don't care what the Rock is cooking (on my porch) I'm going to kick his ass and it's going to be fun. I bet the asshole knows our schedule, knows we're normally out of the house by this time and he thinks he can come hangout when we're gone. Motive? I haven't quite figured out that part. At first it was obvious. He wanted Michael back. Who wouldn't? Now, I'm not so sure. Michael's not even here. Why is he just hanging out?

With the stealth of a hunter (you know? like the kind who hunt moose and deer—what kind did you think I meant?) I creep around to the front, ready for battle. My blood is fucking racing, my heart pumping the theme of Rocky as I peer around the bush. Leaning against the railing of my balcony is…a kid? I give myself points for being right about the leaning thing, but he's as similar to the Dwayne 'the Rock' Johnson as Elvis is to Justin Bieber. He is familiar looking though. Do I know this kid?

He looks somewhere mid-teens, skinny and drowning in his clothes. The leather jacket is nice though, but too big, the jeans look like they're from a Kriss Kross video, 'cept not on backwards. He's got dark hair that's almost black and sits at his shoulders. I can't decide if he came from the eighties or the nineties. Whatever era he's from, I can't believe the kid is smoking. Don't they teach kids about that nowadays? What kinda dumbass kid is still smoking in this day and age?

I keep on the 'tough guy Dean' persona, but I don't charge at him like I would have if he was the Rock. "Hey Kid—"

That's as far as I get, when he decides to bolt. _Oh no. Not today pal._ He's not getting away a third time. Fitter than him (likely due to his toxic lungs) I easily pounce and catch. His baggy clothing makes it a lot easier for me to grab him. "Put the cigarette out, kid."

He does, realizing he's caught and he's going to be dead meat if he doesn't listen. I mean, I'm not gonna beat on a kid, but _he_ doesn't know that. I'm okay with him thinking it and my eyes are all about chopped liver, if you know what I mean.

I pull the key out of my pocket, open the door and drag him into the house, relocking it as I pull the kid through the door and throw him onto the couch in the living room. "Stay there kid."

I pull my phone out of my other pocket and text Cas, telling him I've got a 'situation' and that he's going to have to bring Michael home to meet me rather than me coming there. The kid is glaring at me. "You stink kid. Didn't anyone ever tell you smoking is bad for your lungs and your social life?"

"I was meetin' someone. They're gonna be here any second."

"Well unless it's Wesley Snipes...it's not Wesley Snipes is it?"

"No."

"Like I was saying, unless it's Wesley Snipes, you ain't no more. You're talking to me, this could take awhile."

Knowing I'm not budging, he pulls a phone out of his pocket, which is strange to me. I didn't think he'd have a phone by the way he was dressed, looking like he ripped off his look from a retro-mart. I let him finish his text. "Who were you meeting?"

"None of your fucking business."

"It is my fucking business. You were meeting them on my porch."

"What are you? My dad or something? _Christ._ It was just some girl."

"Oh? So you're smoking _and_ making out on my porch?" Least I know why he was coming here. He just took the last thread of mercy I was gonna give him. Thinking that maybe he missed Michael enough to come back for him made me feel a little sorry for him. If I had to give up Michael, I know I'd be doing the same—creeping around Michael's porch, hoping to catch a glimpse. But he's just here to be a teenage idiot, probably so the dad he mentioned doesn't find out. I'm going to toast this kid.

"Look, I'll stop. Okay? Can I go now?"

"Yes, you will fucking stop, but no you can't fucking go. You're 'Nick' I assume?"

"What's it to you?"

"I'm Michael's father and I have a few bones to pick with you."

"Bones to pick with me? I'm Michael's big brother and I have a few bones to pick with you myself asshole."

Wait. What? "His brother?"

"Half-brother I guess, but I don't think of him that way, just brother. Don't worry, you don't have a second kid."

It clicks. That's why he looks familiar. I can see how him and Michael look alike. Just in small ways, like the big blue eyes, but it's there—I don't need a DNA test to believe they're related. "I know that. Do I look like Dean Winchester's home for strays?" To be honest, I could end up being just that. I'm hoping Michael's the only lost kid I didn't know about, but I don't know for sure. There could be a whole pack of Winchester kids out there. God I hope not. I'm struggling with the one.

I can see that I've hit a nerve in the kid. "I'm clear on who wants me and who doesn't. Don't worry, I'm not trying to live here, or nothing." Okay, maybe that was a bit mean, but he left my kid on a porch.

Speaking of. "How could you leave 'your baby brother' on the fucking porch all by himself?"

"I didn't."

"Yeah you did." Of course he did. Didn't he?

"I waited with him all fucking night telling him stories about how amazing _you_ were, so he wouldn't miss me. I did that for weeks, actually. I built you up like a fucking super hero. When I heard someone coming down the stairs, I hid under the porch 'till I knew he was inside. I'd never leave him alone. Not after…I wouldn't leave him alone."

Okay. "Good thing. You just saved yourself one ass-kicking." But there are other things. "What was with the shitty clothes he was dressed in and never giving him any toys?"

"It's kinda hard to buy things like clothes and toys with no fucking money. _I_ looked after Michael since he was born. _Lisa_ was fucking useless. No one hires a twelve-year-old with a baby, except to mow lawns. It doesn't pay well. I figured food was more important. I stole what I could, but that's just as difficult with a little one as working is."

Now I have a different pain stabbing my heart. That could have easily been me and Sammy. Thank god we could rely on Dad for some things, even if he wasn't around for everything. My kid's been through hell, but this kid's been through more hell. I know. I was him. All the steam leaves me as I picture Nick, struggling, trying to raise a little boy with no money and no help. "I didn't want to fucking leave him with you, but I knew you'd a least be able to provide for him and he was always getting sick. I didn't want something bad to happen to him."

"It must have been hard, Nick, but you made the right choice."

"I don't know if I did. You can't even seem to brush his fucking hair right and I thought at least you would be able to get him to sleep, but you suck at it. Even I did a better job."

I sigh. "Yeah. I do suck at getting him to sleep. Just how long has that been going on?"

"Just since his mom died. She wasn't totally absent from him. Just enough to make him love her even though she never took care of him."

"Wasn't she your mom too?"

"Biologically. I stopped calling her mom a long time ago. I didn’t mind taking care of him so much as I did her not being there for him. Us."

Wow. This could just as easily gone the other way; Nick could have resented Michael for being forced to give up his life to take care of him and for a moment, my fears get away from me, imagining what Nick had the power to do to Michael. He could have left him for dead. He didn't though. He looked after him, best he could. It says something about his character. I like the kid already. "You sounded a lot more understanding of her in your note."

"Yeah, so you'd take him. Duh. I didn't want you to think Michael was a nutcase."

"What was up with your mo—I mean Lisa?"

"Fucked if I know. She was depressed a lot after Michael. I looked some stuff up on the internet. I think maybe post partum stuff she never came back from? I don't know. She wasn't all that amazing to begin with. Just really good looking—that got her shit. She used to work at Hooters."

_Ah. Enter Dean Winchester._

"But after Michael, she got worse. Depressed. Anxious. She couldn't work anymore."

"No one could help you?"

"No okay? No one wants to help a single woman with a teenager and a toddler. Shocking. I looked after her too for Michael's sake, he loved his mama. Then that fucking cunt killed herself the one time I leave Michael with her. I wish I could bring her back to kill her again for that."

As much as part of me wants to agree with him, I can have maturity when I put my mind to it. "Whoa. Hey now. That does fucking suck, but your, I mean, Michael's mama was sick."

"Whatever. I'm not here to be consoled by you."

"Why are you here?"

He won't answer that.

"I'd think the obvious, to see Michael, but I know, you know he's not here."

"None of your fucking business okay?"

"Again, it's my house, so you made it my fucking business and I'm kinda your ticket to seeing Michael, so you might want to start with some honesty."

That gets him. "It's stupid."

"Try me."

"I knew you were onto me. I was pretty sure Michael would tell you about letting me in through the downstairs window, since you lock fucking everything."

He what? Thanks to his delinquent older brother, I might have to keep a closer eye on my kid. What else did he teach Michael? I don't confirm or deny the statement. "Go on."

"I stayed away for as long as I could, but I missed him. You're usually gone around now, so I came by. Being here makes me feel close to him. I, I peer in the window and look at all his toys and imagine him playing with them, happy. No matter what I did, the kid was never happy."

I know that feeling. "What about you? Where do you live?"

He somehow manages to look more angry. "With my dad."

"You two both had dads this whole time and you didn't think living with them was a better option? Why didn't you do that in the first place?"

"It's not as fucking easy as it sounds. No one else wanted us, why would I think any differently of you two? When Lisa spoke of our dads, she hinted in that direction. She didn't exactly say it, now that I think back, it was more her own doubts than anything else, but she did keep each of our father's last names. Michael Winchester, Nick Giancola. I figured that had to mean something, but even still, it wasn't 'till I got really worried about Michael after her death, that I decided we had nothing to lose."

"So you're living with your dad now? He accepted you?"

"Kinda. It's complicated."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means what it means. That part is none of your business. We done here? I'd really like to go. I won't bother you anymore."

"Yeah right." I know that if Michael were Sammy, I'd never leave the situation alone. That's when Cas and Michael come through the door. Michael sees me and starts running, I meet him half-way.

As usual, there are tears. "Daddy! You leaved me." I think I know where that comes from now. I thought it was just from his mama dying, which I know is part of it, but she's not the only one important to Michael who left him. Nick did too. He didn't mean to, he was doing what he thought best, but it's left Michael with a bit of a complex over being left. That's why I can't get him to sleep. Nick only had the one loss to deal with, now it's loss for Michael times two. 'Cept he never cries for Nicky…

"Leaved you? You leaved me! You're the one who took off with Cas grease monkey." I let him cry into my shoulder. Cas comes in behind him.

"I swear Winchester. He was smiling until we got to the driveway. We had a really great morning."

"I believe you Cas." I get it. I really get it now. Only time is going to heal this wound for Michael along with my continued assurances.

"Michael, tell Daddy about your work day. Remember you helped me bring people their muffins?"

He pulls away from my shoulder. He's got Ironman in his fist, no soother and a Cheezie mouth, which means my shirt I put on for Cas also has Cheezie on it. How does my brother always manage to stay so clean with two rugrats? "I bringed them muffins Daddy. I ate the muffins."

"You did? Where's my muffin?"

Michael looks to Cas, who reaches into the diaper bag. "Right here." He hands the bag to Michael who's excited to give it to me as I wipe Cheezie and tears off his face with my hand.

"Thanks, bud. Daddy's starving." It's exactly then that Mr. Smokes-a-lot tries to make a break for it. He's caught around the collar by Cas. I can't even get by Cas, as if he could.

"Is this the situation you spoke of?" Cas says unimpressed.

"Yes."

Before I get to explain, Michael sets eyes on his big brother. "Nicky! Nicky! Nicky!" He makes a dive for him and I let him go to his brother, apprehensively. I'm a little afraid he'll try to make a run for it with Michael, but Cas is pulling him away from the door as Michael goes to him and I kick the door shut with my foot, locking it when my hands become free. I stay very close to them and so does Cas. My kid's smiling huge. He does love 'Nicky.' I think Cas sees it too, else he'd likely be tearing Michael away from him. He's still weary of Nick.

"Heya Mikey. Missed you." He nuzzles his face into Michael. Michael kisses his cheek. I stare at the brothers, picturing Sammy and I. What if I had, had to leave Sammy for some reason when we were kids? I don't think I could do it. This kid is stronger than me. I admire him for making the difficult choice he had to make. It goes without saying, he made the right one, but it couldn't have been easy. He didn't know if I'd be a good Dad. He also had to make the decision knowing he might never see Michael again.

"Doesn't cry, Nicky. Look, you can have my Irunman. He'll protect you."

I'm so mesmerized thinking of me and Sammy and what I would have done if I was him, I don't notice that the kid's crying and trying not to let anyone see. And Michael's _giving_ Ironman to him? Nick must be important to Michael. Suddenly, I have to wipe my eyes.

"No way. I don't need him. That's yours. I gotta know you have someone to protect you if I'm not here."

"Hey, what about me?" I say. "I protect Michael."

Nick glares at me. He turns back to Michael. "Where's your brush, kid? Someone should brush your hair if he won't. Go get if for me. I'll show your daddy how to do it properly."

"Okay!"

Michael heads up the stairs, Cas follows to help. Nick watches him 'till he hits the top of the stairs then reaches for the door handle. "Hey, where do you think you're going? You can't leave. You're gonna crush him."

"It's for the best. You're not gonna want me around. I shouldn't have been coming here in the first place. I won't trouble you anymore. He's in a good home. It's better than I can do for him. I should go before he comes back."

"Wait," I say barring him from the door. "I'll be honest. No, I don't trust you not to run off with him, or that you won't rob me blind if I'm not looking."

"No offence, but you don't really have anything to steal. Unless it's money, which I didn't notice the first time I was here."

"I'm going to pretend you didn't say that. What I was going to say is, I commend you on your brave decision to bring Michael to me, that was the right thing to do, but walking out of his life isn't. I want you to be with Michael too. I don't know the logistics yet, but we can work something out."

"R-really?"

"Yeah, really. I have a brother too."

"Yeah, I know."

"Just how many times have you been here?"

"A few."

Michael's making his way down the stairs step-by-step. "See, Cas? I can do it myself."

Cas shakes his head. "Stubborn Winchesters."

Michael and Ironman run to Nick and hand him the brush as instructed. Michael waits with his big sad eyes. I don't know how that's possible. He's happy as fuck his brother's here, that Daddy's here, but there's still the undercurrent of sadness. Nick actually looks to me for permission. If I didn't have my own experience to draw from, I'd say I don't get this kid, except that I do. I know that raising a little brother with no parental figure, matures you in some ways and keeps you immature in others. "How about go into the living room with him?"

Nick takes his hand, but Michael's not going anywhere without me. "Daddy's coming too," he lets us all know. Nick may be important to him, but somehow, I've managed to hold a first place spot. I like to think it's not all Nick's doing.

"Of course I am. Daddy always goes with Michael."


	27. Aye Captain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel it pertinent to remind everyone that I am no psychologist. I can barely spell psychologist and have to type it slowly, so I get it right. And even if I was and knew everything about psychology, I would still adhere to my motto of 50% Fact, 50% fiction. I really hope I do not offend any psychologists in the room, so apologies in advance if I do. I'm not likely to show further appointments (only make mentions of), which is why I ended the appointment as I did (you'll see) even though I didn't think it was something a psychologist was likely to say in RL...or maybe it is! I don't know. What I did do, is base this off a dude's--a Dr. of Psychology Dude's--website where he outlined his process for seeing patients online. My goal was for it to be sweet and entertaining! I hope you are entertained. :-) 
> 
> Got my computer back, but sadly must take it in again tomorrow. It's still doing something weird! Mock has wisely been backing everything up, so I'm good there, but don't know what going on with my comp! Good news though, I figured out, I am still able to type on my old computer, but it is a relic. 
> 
> One last thing. I seem to want to break the fourth wall with no rhyme or reason as to when I'll do it when I write. I am sorry for this inconsistency, but I'm just going to go with it and hope no one hates it too much.

Clearly they've done this before. Without a word, Michael knows to sit in front of Nicky, Nick, whatever the fuck his name is, as the teenage mini-dad sits behind him on the couch and starts brushing Michael's hair with love and adoration; real careful-like, like Michael's head is an egg, or something else really breakable. Cas and I exchange a private look in which we agree to observe them like they're in a fucking fishbowl. We're too afraid to talk, thinking it might disturb them in their natural habitat.

Nick commented on how sad Michael is, but I don't think he realizes how much that same sadness haunts him. Their blue eyes are perfect metaphors of dejection, twin sets, mirroring the other. Two sad little boys. Alone except for the other. At least Michael has us now. How Nick must feel. Nick must know how much Michael loves him, any happiness the boy feels must exist in Michael and now that's gone from his life too. _Not anymore._

"Now this is what good hair looks like, Mikey. You be sure and remind your daddy."

_Aw. That's pretty fucking cute._

"Nicky? Mama's coming back too?"

 _Fuck. I can't wait to see what the kid's got for this one._ He's pretty good with him.

"No. She's never coming back. Just forget you knew that fucking cunt."

Fuck. Ouch. Even I cringe at that and look over to Cas who I can see wants to pull Michael away from the foul-mouthed boy, but surprisingly, he shakes his head at me, saying to leave them. I guess I'm just as foul-mouthed anyway and hey! this must mean I'm not the only place Michael learned to swear.

"You don't need her anyway. You have your daddy now. Remember what I said?"

"Be a good boy for Daddy."

_I guess that's helpful._

"Be good and he'll keep you. You want him to keep you, don't you?"

Michael starts crying. "Daddy! Daddy, doesn't want Daddy to leave me!" Michael's frozen in terror. God damn. Nick and I are going to have to talk about a whole fucking list of things.

I walk over and pull him up to my chest. "Never Michael. No matter what you do, got it?"

He's too upset to answer. I'm irritated, but I don't blame Nick. I can only imagine how fucked up he is. Thankfully Michael's only three. I'm no expert, but I'm sure it's harder when you're in your teens to overcome something like these two have been through. Especially with the whole trust thing. I sit down on the armchair beside the couch with Michael. Cas leans against the doorframe in case I need him, but knowing I'm the person for this job, he waits. "You don't have to worry about me getting rid of Michael, Nick. That's never going to happen. You see this bruise on my face? That's from Michael whacking me in the face with a wrench. I didn't get rid of him them did I?"

"That's from Michael? I thought that was from your scary looking boyfriend over there."

"Why would you think Cas gave me this shiner?"

"I, uh, I saw some things."

I blush. This fucking kid saw Cas spanking me, didn't he? Cas has to remind me with his eyes to be the adult. I a little bit want to throttle the kid for that one. "We are going to have some serious talks about you spying on us." And Cas and I have got to remember to close _all_ of the curtains. "My boyfriend's name is Cas and he doesn't beat me. He just…" Kill me now. I can't believe I'm saying all this in front of this kid. "We have a special relationship. One where he disciplines me if I break our rules."

"Hey, whatever you're into, man. And yeah, I think I gathered that he doesn't beat you. The shiner was confusing though. It seemed the only explanation."

"Anyway, Michael's here to stay. Period. I don't care if he burns my whole house down, I'll love him just the same."

Nick nods.

"Daddy? Wants my soother. Kay?"

Nick and I both reach into our pockets and pull out soothers. I'm closer, so I pop mine into Michael's mouth, Nick looks like a kicked puppy. He feels like he's been replaced. Much as I don't really want the worn looking soother, anywhere near Michael's mouth (who knows where the kid got it) I tell Michael, "Look big guy, Nicky has a soother for you too."

Michael reaches out for it and takes it from his big brother, then holds it close to his chest (thankfully not in his mouth) as he curls back into me and closes his eyes. I wait a bit, till Michael calms down to speak, letting Michael fall asleep and lean back in the chair, so he's more comfortable when I know he's drifting off. "Look, Nick. We share a lot in common you and I. I looked after my brother too."

"Did you find your little brother in a pool of your mother's blood after she killed herself?"

I hate drawing up an image to go with that statement, what it must have been like to see. I hate that my son had to go through that. "Okay, maybe not a lot in common, but I looked after my brother instead of being a kid too. I know exactly how you feel about Michael. I'm not taking him away from you, or you him. You can come over whenever you want, uh, so long as you alert us of your presence. I can tell you we're going to be a lot more cognizant of which curtains are open. Better yet, call first."

"I will. Thank you."

"You know, it would be helpful if you could tell us a bit more. I get it though, you're not my business." Even though I highly fucking disagree with that. "But maybe just the parts with Michael? It would help me, help him. I think we can both agree he needs my help, Nick, or you wouldn't have brought him here."

He slumps back on the couch and stares at the ceiling heaving a tired sigh. "What do you want to know?"

"Your mama, she killed herself, in front of him?"

"Well not in front of him, exactly. Least I don't think so. Fuck. This is what happened best as I can piece shit together. I finally got this night job that paid pretty decent."

Somehow I doubt this night job was nocturnal janitor. Am I a bad person for hoping it involved drugs instead of sex?

"She said she'd be fine. She said she could handle it. We needed the money, or we were gonna get kicked out of the hole we were living in. We were already way behind on rent. One saving grace, the landlord felt sorry for us and Lisa was able to 'convince' him to let us stay there—she was good for something—but even that gravy train was coming to an end. Eventually, people need money more than you know."

Yeah. I can piece together the services Lisa was likely providing for the landlord.

"I couldn't take Michael with me for this job. I had no choice but to leave him with her. I told him to go to bed when he got sleepy. I knew she wouldn't put him to bed. But he usually listens to me. To make sure, I called home around his bedtime, she said he'd gone to bed himself and was sound asleep. I…" his voice breaks up. "I fucking asked her if _she_ was okay. She said yes. I know she had a hard time looking after Michael. When I got home, it was the middle of the night. She couldn't have just taken a bunch of prescription drugs, or something clean like a normal fucked-up person. It was messy-slit wrists in the bathtub. And Michael…Mi-Michael was there screaming his head off. He'd obviously been tugging on her arm. He was saying, wake up Mama. Wake up. Don't leave. Don't leave. I don't know why he fucking loved her, but he did."

 _Jesus Christ._ I hold my sleeping son a little tighter.

"I don't understand, Nick," Cas says. "Didn't you call the police? How come social services weren't involved?"

"I called the police. The officer…let's just say I convinced him to say he never saw us. I know what happens to kids like us in foster care."

I don't want to know what 'convincing' means to Nick. "Where did you go?" I ask.

"I finally hit some fucking luck and found room in an abandoned building. It was zoned for destruction. I didn't have long to figure out a new plan. I thought things were bad before, but things were even worse without Lisa. Least we had a home. Michael cried every night and was sick and I could barely feed him. Fuck, watching him starve…"

The kid puts his face in his hands. He's crying. I don't think he cries often, but this is the second time in ten minutes. All in front of us. Cas comes into the room and sits down beside him. "Everything is okay now, Nicholas. You were brave. You did the right thing."

He sniffles and rubs his arm across his eyes. "Yeah. I should go."

"You look like you could use a meal, kid. Stay. We gotta leave soon, but there's time for sandwiches." And I want to hear more. I want to hear everything. No matter how horrible. He's making my son make sense. This stuff, I get.

"Yeah. Okay." Nick's watching Michael breathe now, the slow inhale, exhales of a sleeping little boy. "You're a good Dad Mr. Winchester. I've watched you long enough to know—except for the hair thing. I'm so fucking glad Michael's got a good Dad."

 _Doesn't he?_ Clearly he's set up with an iPhone and that jacket doesn't look fucking cheap. I wish he'd tell me what the fuck is going on with his parent. He's also got good manners. 'Mr. Winchester,' like I'm some old guy. "Call me Dean and thank you and we've really gotta teach you about spying." I look over to Cas. "You mind taking this one upstairs? I'm going to make this guy a sandwich."

"Of course, Baby," Cas says taking Michael from me and kissing my lips.

**

Nick follows me into the kitchen. "That dude is fucking scary."

"Hey, what about me? I almost kicked your ass earlier."

"Please. You try to act tough, but you're kind of a softie, Dean."

I am not. I don't say that to the kid though. Maybe I'll put hot sauce in his sandwich. That'll show him. Okay, we all know I'm not going to do that, but thinking about maybe doing it, makes me feel better. "What do you like, kid?"

"I'll eat anything, you'll give me."

Okay, I can't fucking take it anymore. "C'mon kid. You're killing me. Will you give me a hint of what's going on with your dad? Does he beat you? Is it sexual abuse? Neglect you like your mom did?" Yeah, I know. Not the way to ask and have him tell me, but this is how I do.

"FYI, don't ever take up a career in psychology. You suck at it."

"Well my boyfriend fucking rocks at it. Either tell me, or I'll sick scary, doctor of psych on you and he'll mind-meld you." That makes him sound like a super hero. I should start calling him Psych Man.

"Suck my cock."

"Why you little—"

"What's going on in here Winchester?"

"He started it."

"He did. Asking me personal stuff I don't want to answer."

"Winchester?"

"Why am I in trouble?"

"Do you really want to do this now?"

"Ah. He knows I get spanked anyway."

"You two are fucking weird. Any chance I could get that sandwich to go?"

Cas puts an end to the Tom Foolery. "Dean, sit. Nicholas, stay sitting. I'll make the sandwiches," he says taking off his trench coat and rolling up his sleeves; two actions that have already conditioned me to squirm. I sit, but cross my arms trying to look a little more intimidating and not let anyone know that I'm afraid of a little spanking.

"It's Nick, not Nicholas," Nick is brazen enough to say to Cas.

Cas turns eyes on him, _those_ eyes that make me fucking squirm more. Fuck with Cas at your own risk I always say. "Is that not your full name?"

"Well yeah, but I go by Nick. 'Cept with Michael. He calls me Nicky."

"And I call you Nicholas. Is there going to be a problem with that?"

"Uh, you know what? No Castiel." _Smart move kid._

_Guess he's figured out all our names too._

"It's Mr. Novak."

He swallows and nods at Cas. Haha! Even he knows to heed Cas. My happiness is short-lived. I'm swallowing and nodding too when Cas turns that look on me. "Nicholas has kindly agreed to telling us about his life with Michael. We won't ask for more for the time being."

It's all said in his 'Cas has spoken' voice, which is legal and binding. Law. "Yeah, yeah."

"Yeah, yeah? He's already seen me spank you Winchester, maybe we'll give him the front row viewing?"

"I won't ask him for more, Cas. Sorry, Nick. Cas is right."

Now Nick's laughing. "I changed my mind. You two are fun."

"Hold on, I'm not finished," Cas says. "At some point, it is going to become pertinent for us to know your situation, Nicholas. We will wait until you're more comfortable, but if your plan is to frequent this home, eventually you'll need to tell us."

"Is that how this works? I have to spill my guts or I can't see my brother?"

"FYI, Cas makes everyone spill their guts," I stage whisper to him.

"Enough Winchester. There is no 'or.' You're just going to tell us someday."

"What if I never feel comfortable enough?"

"You will," Cas says confidently as he pulls out the sandwich making stuff.

"Is he always like this?" Nick whispers to me.

"Presumptuous? Bossy? Know-it-all?"

"Yeah."

I nod and before Cas makes true on his threats to spank my ass in front of the kid I add, "and dammit if he's always right too."

**

Michael, Cas and I are sitting outside the office of the psychologist Dr. Bradbury, Charlie, recommended. I'm nervous as fuck. I've never been to one of these. My dad didn't leave me with a great impression of 'them' either, but I remember that Dad never actually went to see one, not to my knowledge anyway. There's just the slightest chance he could be wrong. Maybe.

"Mr. Winchester, Dr. Sanders will see you now. She'd like to see alone first if she could," the receptionist says.

"Here, Winchester." Cas holds out his arms for Michael, who goes to him readily. He's got Ironman, a soother in his mouth and the one Nick gave him in his hand. He remembered Nick, soon as he woke up. I assured him Nick was coming back. I hope to fuck that kid comes back. But it made me remember one of my earlier thoughts, why hasn't Michael asked or talked about Nick? I forgot to ask. I'll be asking. He certainly remembers and talks about him now. He chatted to Ironman the whole way here about big brother Nicky. "We can say now, Irunman," he said. "We can say. Daddy talks to Nicky, Irunman. Daddy lets Nicky brush my hair. If I like him, Daddy will like him. Me and Daddy are always the same."

_Fuck my kid is cute._

Somehow Nick was able to convince Michael not to talk about him. There were a couple slip ups though. I should have looked into it then, but I was busy figuring shit out; like how to be a Father and do it with my eyes half-open due to lack of sleep.

"Daddy will be right back, big guy. I'll be in that room there if you need me. Stay with Cas okay?"

He nods with big eyes.

In the office is a tall, gorgeous African-American woman. She's got huge beautiful eyes and a stunning smile. I don't want to get in a wrestling match with her. She looks fit and strong. "You'd better close your mouth Mr. Winchester."

"Uh, sorry. I didn't expect you to be so...you're hot, dammit. I'm sorry, that's inappropriate, but wow, you are." She gives Jo a run for her money. Then I remember how hot Cas is. Maybe psychologists are all secretly super hot? Some kinda secret club. Must be it.

She laughs. She's got a nice laugh too. I think Michael's going to like her. "Thank you Mr. Winchester."

"Dean, you can call me Dean."

"Dean. Have a seat. I like to chat a little with the parents before meeting with the child."

I sit down.

"I've read over your forms, but I'd like to hear from you. What's your main concern about your son?"

It's not easy opening up to her, but thank fuck I've had all that practice from Cas making me tell him stuff. I also remember how important it is that Michael sees her. "My son won't sleep. He lost his mother and…" I tell her as much as I can about the nights with him and what I believe the problem to be. I tell her what we recently learned from Nick. Cas said I should. I was scared to share that information with her, but Cas assured me I was safe to. I trust him. She patiently listens and her face is kind and compassionate.

"I'm sorry for your son's loss, Dean. I lost my mother when I was young too. I don't practice too much self-disclosure, but I will if I think it will help and I can tell you're nervous Dean. I want you to know Michael will be talking to someone who understands. "

She asks me a bunch more questions; if I think this was an issue before his mother died, what triggers his challenges, what's helped reduce them, what hasn't helped, the impact the problems have had on me and anyone else in the family. On and on and on.

"Do you have any questions for me, Dean?"

"Yeah, uh, how much is this going to cost? Not that you're not worth it. I can tell my son's going to like you, it's just, I know it's probably gonna be a fortune. I tried to ask on the phone, but your receptionist said you had to evaluate us first."

She smiles again. "Valid question, Dean. Budgeting for therapy is important. I still have to see Michael, because what you end up paying will depend on how many times I have to see him, but I can tell you I charge two hundred dollars per hour and I'll need a minimum of six sessions to thoroughly assess Michael and develop my recommendations for him. Is that going to work for you?"

I'm doing my best not to show on the outside how I feel on the inside, but it's probably useless seeing as she can probably read my body language. I know that from having a Cas. "Yep. No problem at all." I'll just get two more jobs and donate a kidney; can you donate lungs? _Bet I could get a lot for a lung._

She gives me a funny look. "How about I meet Michael now, and I can give you a better idea?"

"Yeah, sure."

I retrieve Michael from Cas. "Hey! You leaved me Daddy!" This time instead of tears, he's pissed off. Cas senses my mini panic attack right away.

"What's going on Winchester?"

"Uh, tell you later. She wants to meet Michael." I snag Michael from Cas. "I was in that room, remember?" I tell Michael.

He manages to pull the soother in his mouth out with the same hand holding the other soother. "Don't remember…oh yeah! Daddy, we's gonna hang now? Was hanging with Cas."

Crisis at the doctor's office averted. "Yeah kid, we're gonna hang, but first there's someone I want you to meet."

I bring him into Dr. Sanders's office. Michael looks between her and me. Then he points with his soother filled hand. "Wow, Daddy. Pretty lady!"

"I can see your son takes after you, Dean."

I blush. "Ah, yeah. A little."

"Hi Michael. I'm Jelena, but you can call me Lena."

"Lookit that. You're in bud. You get to call her Lena. Even Daddy doesn't get to call her that." Is that flirting? Am I flirting? I can't tell.

"You can call me Lena, Dean."

This portion of the appointment is far less interview-like. She talks to Michael about his Ironman doll, using a similar technique to Charlie, only instead of looking Ironman over, she asks about him on a personal level. "Who got you that doll?"

"Daddy," he says looking at me and smiling shyly.

"Yeah?" I can see intuition flickering in her eyes. "What do you and Ironman do together?"

"We hangs with Daddy and fixes cars with Daddy."

"Wow. You do a lot with Daddy. Who else do you 'hang' with?"

"Cas."

"Who's Cas?"

Michael looks up to me unsure. "Castiel is my boyfriend. _Doctor_ of Psychology, Castiel Novak," I add to get bonus points.

She knows what I'm up to. "I've read some of his work. He's a great Doctor."

"They is kissin'!" Michael rats us out then hides in my shoulder.

She laughs again. She continues chatting with him and Michael continues to tell her about his and Ironman's adventures with Daddy. I notice she doesn't bring up Nick and I guess that she's keeping the topic light. I'm not a psych major, but it's obvious that I'm not connected to his mama's death, Nick is. She's making this first visit positive. "Because he's so young Dean and I've gathered he's not going to stay with just me, we'll do our visits with you present. I'd like to see him twice a week for the first month and we'll go from there. You and I will need to chat alone sometimes too, like we did at the beginning of this session."

_Two times a week? With four weeks in a month and two times four being eight, that's eight times two hundred dollars an hour, which is sixteen hundred dollars. Fuck._

"I'm going to detail everything for you in my Assessment Report, but I want you to know Dean, I can tell that some great healing has already happened here."

"You can? Well Dr. Novak did make those suggestions I told you about."

"And they were great suggestions, but you've done some things on your own, instinctively. Michael's hit the Daddy jackpot."

She's flirting with me isn't she? Definitely flirting. No. Maybe. I don't know. Dear God I can't tell anymore. Is it anything I can use to get her to reduce her fees?

"Not all our appointments will be as easy as this one, but he will do well, Dean. Because of you, Michael's going to be okay."

**

Nick is came back for dinner. Since he didn't really get to see Michael, we promised him we could come back for dinner, but I worried about being able to afford to feed him dinner after that appointment. She was great with Michael and me to be honest, but I still feel violated. Financially violated. I've been stressing out since I heard her fees and would barely talk all the way home. Cas and I made the kids spaghetti. Nick picked up where he left off with Michael. I don't think he can help it. Where I usually let Michael feed himself, Nick's there helping him. "You're getting spaghetti everywhere. Here, let me help you," he says picking up Michael's fork. Michael had opted to use his hands.

"Can do it myself, Nicky."

"No, you can't."

The kid reminds me of me with Sammy. We were a lot closer in age, but the story was the same—me getting Sammy to do things by telling him. And like Sammy with me, Michael has quite a bit of hero worship for his big brother, so after a little bickering, Michael usually does what Nick tells him to.

"C'mon Michael, let me feed you. Look, you're all messy." He grabs up a napkin and wipes his face much to my son's dismay. Michael lets him though and he lets Nick feed him. "See, much better, Mikey."

"Who's going to feed you?" Cas asks. That surprises me, but it shouldn't. Cas is doing his tricky thing. I should have known that's what he'd be up to when he was giving all that talk earlier about me not asking him questions. He wants to know about Nick, just as badly as I do.

"I'm almost fifteen Mr. Novak. I can feed myself." To prove his point, he feeds himself a bite in between Michael taking bites.

"Just checking."

"I have a question," I chime in. "What did you tell Michael, so he wouldn't cry for you?"

"Do I have to answer that?" he asks Cas. I guess everyone knows he's the boss. He's got a way about him.

"No, but it would be appreciated if you did."

"It's…" his lip wobbles. "That if he wanted to keep his daddy and not end up back with me, he'd shut up about me." He won't look at either of us and concentrates on feeding Michael.

"Aw Nick. Just because Michael wants me, doesn't want to give you up. All he probably remembered was keep Daddy. I'm kinda awesome."

That gets me an eye roll. This kid's a tough crowd. I can't seem to make him laugh, or even smile. "I don't care anyway. Here feed yourself." He gives Michael back his fork, which he instantly abandons in favor of his fingers.

"Yeah, you do," I say. I hope the kid's dad has him in therapy too. He's definitely got abandonment issues.

"What is it with this place? I've barely been here and I'm on an emotional roller coaster."

"You've barely been here?" I say. I'm not sure the kid really left.

"You know what I mean."

Nick lasts about five minutes before he's picking up Michael's fork again and helping him eat. Michael chats on to Ironman about the pretty lady he met and how he can feed himself spaghetti. "You see Nick? We're both second to Ironman." _That finally gets me a small smile._

I let Nick help me bath Michael and put him to bed. Before he leaves, I tell him to come by (since he's not in school for reasons he's probably not going to divulge) and help me get started on Michael's room. It's my morning with Michael.

And now it's the moment we've all been waiting for. Nick's gone. Michael's in bed. I'm alone with Cas, Dean's scary-looking boyfriend and unfortunately Dean is me. He crooks a finger at me. "Come here, Winchester."

"Now Cas, we're gonna talk about this, aren't we?"

"Of course," he says with eyes like a predator.

“Why am I in trouble?”

He grabs my wrist and his fingers expertly pop the button on the fancy slacks I’m still wearing from the psychologist’s appointment. I never got around to changing and besides, I could tell Cas was digging my ‘fancy’ look. Remembering I’m the one who asked for his, told him I wanted this and done this way, _though I’m seriously questioning my decision-making skills right now,_ I don’t bat his hand away like I want to and just stand there pouting at him, trying to get him change his mind. I can’t though, his mind is made up, he feels an over the knee discussion is warranted.

I do look to see that _all_ the blinds are closed. “They’re all closed, Winchester.”

That’s the last thing he says before he pulls me over said knees. My backside is already tingling when I feel the dreaded fingers under the waistband of my boxers. I don’t know what it is about that, but it makes my already squirmy tummy all the more squirmy. It’s that knowing you’re going to get it feeling and that there’s no getting out of it. Succinctly, Cas is always fucking succinct, he pulls my boxers straight down, letting them fall at my ankles. “Do you have to pull them down so far?”

His answer is a series of open-handed smacks to my bare-ass. “Ow, Cas. Ow!”

The spanking continues a long time. I can feel my ass getting warmer and it really fucking smarts. It’s a funny thing though, when you get spanked, you expect to feel all this hate and anger—that’s how spanking’s portrayed, this hitting thing you do with when you’re pissed a someone, but that’s not what I feel. I know he’s not pleased, but every smack is love and care and yes, it fucking _hurts,_ but I feel completion.

And there’s something more. It tugs at the knot in my stomach, ‘till it comes apart and when it does, even though I’m kicking, just a little at the stingy slaps Cas’s lead-hand is working my ass over with, the tears come. Before I know it, I’m fucking crying real tears and the spanking helps me keep crying and feel okay to cry. It’s like it was a catalyst for me. I needed to cry, to release that knot, but I wasn’t going to fucking do it on my own. I know that this spanking was not a punishment, it was to help with this, with my _feelings._ Take my chaotic feelings, arrange them, release them.

I don’t feel anymore spanks, but I do feel the radiating warmth of my ass and Cas’s hand rubbing my back and over the heat of my cheeks. Then he pulls me up to his arms, leaving my pants and boxers pooled at my feet and holds me. I feel good, calm; on the way to content. Fuck. I still need to talk don't I? _I just know Cas is going to make me._ All right, all right, he's not making me, so much as he's good at getting me to realize I _need_ to and I do. I still argue that's a form of making someone talk. “Everything’s going to be okay, Baby.”

“It’s not, Cas,” I fucking sniffle. “Michael needs this therapist and she’s too fucking expensive. I’m a dumb mechanic and I—"

Without missing a beat, I’m back over Cas’s lap and being spanked again. “Ow, Cas! What gives?”

“What did I say about talking like that about yourself?”

“N-not to! Ow, Christ.” These spanks are different. They somehow mean more business than the first ones did. These are punishment spanks for sure. After several sharp smacks, he pulls me up to sitting again.

“If I hear anymore language like that, I’ll have you retrieve my paddle.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now tell me again, without the depreciate-Dean-talk.”

Whoa. He fucking means it. I nod and wipe my eyes. “I have enough to pay for a bit, but I think Michael’s going to need a lot of sessions. After the first month, I don’t know how I’m going to do it without going back to work—which means less time with Michael and ruins my current plan to stay home with him for a bit. I’m just wishing I had a higher paying job.”

“Better. And I don’t see the problem Winchester, you said you were going to get help from your brother.”

“Yeah, if I _need_ it.”

“It sounds like you do.”

“I’m not asking Sammy for money.”

“Why bother sending the text asking for money then?”

“Moment of weakness, besides, I never really meant it.”

Cas gives me a look, a dark one that's saying I should consider the folly in that before he has something to say about it. You would think, ass stinging, warm, bare from the waist down, I'd be more agreeable, but I'm not. "I'll figure it out Cas, without his help, don't worry."

"I'm not worried. If you think I'm going to wait around watching you stress and mope and think badly about yourself, you're sorely mistaken and I didn't spank you hard enough. We're only going to come to this inevitable conclusion, so I'll save you the heartache by telling you: You're asking your brother for money."

My mouth opens to speak, then closes when Cas gives me _those_ eyes. Still, it opens again and closes again a few more times, both because I'm in shock and can't decide if the spanking I'll get for telling him off is worth it. This is huge, this is, fuck, uncomfortable. And that tingly, squirmy feeling I've come to love and crave is there, pooling in my gut, spreading across the skin of my thighs and the warmth of my ass, making it warmer. For the record, in case anyone's wondering, no my dick still isn't hard. That doesn't mean that funny tingly-squirmy feeling hasn't spread to my groin region, but it's not quite the same as being turned on. I don't know what it is. I might never know, or ever be able to explain it properly, but I know it's real and the only way to keep it is _this_ with Cas.

I wouldn't trade it for the world, but fuck, this is going to be really hard. I can't ask my brother for money for real. I fucking _can't_ do it. I see only two options. I try for the first one, begging and pleading. "Cas please. I can't do it. I don't want to do it."

"You can and you will. Do you know why?"

"Because you're mean?"

His eye frown and I'm surprised when I'm not turned over his knee again. "Because I said so. I know this is hard for you. Remember I told you, you would not like everything I asked you to do?"

"Yeah, but I didn't believe you. And this isn't asking Cas. What happens if I don't do it?" I say like an asshole. I'm taking advantage of the leeway he's giving me. We both know it.

"The same thing that happens when you don't do the other things I ask you to do. Only this one is a big one. I know exactly how this is going to affect you Dean. I'm not having it. Disobey me and not only will you be spanked, but I will give you a second punishment as well."

I slump on the couch, pouting, still with pants around my ankles and cross my arms like a little kid. "This is so unfair, Cas," I add just to make my tantrum complete.

He stands me up and for a second, I think I'm going to go over his knees again, but instead, he begins pulling up my boxers. He removes my black slacks completely and my socks. I'm left in the smart, blue button-down I wore to the doc's office, sleeves still rolled up from when I bathed Michael and the white pair of Saxx. Cas smiles at me and pulls me down to cuddle him. "I can understand why you feel that way, Baby, but if you could only see how much this is tearing you apart. I knew it, soon as you walked out of the doctor's office. I didn't just make a snap decision Dean. I thought this over. I did weigh in that this would be hard for you, but I'm here to help. I also understand that this is about trusting me, letting go of making this decision. You said you were ready for me to…take the kid gloves off, I believe is how you put it; this is a great way to put us to the test."

 _Stupid, logical, smart Cas, making so much sense._ I snuggle tighter into my Cas lair and inhale his manly, Cas-scent. "You're right, Cas. I said all of that and I meant it and I want it. But yeah, really didn't expect it to be this hard."

"Is it because you think I'm wrong, that you shouldn't ask your brother for money? If you have valid points, you know I will always listen, but I'm still making the final decision. Or are you being 'Dean' about this?"

I'm not fooled. I know those questions aren't for him, but me. He knows the answers to them. He wants me to say them out loud for myself. "You're not wrong Cas, I'm still waiting for the day you are." _It'll come. I just know it._ "I'm being, _Dean_ about it, and don't have any points good enough to change your mind, but I still don't wanna no matter how much sense it makes."

"It's just as I thought. Since it appears that you have no productive counter-points on the topic, it's closed."

 _Closed?_ I know what I just said, but I'm still not quite ready to let this go. "Well, just a minute Cas, it is pretty late—"

"Yes, thank you for reminding me—bedtime Winchester."

"Not funny Cas. As I was saying, it's pretty late to be coming up with 'productive counter-points,'" I say in a voice to mimic Cas. "I might think of something good tomorrow, on account of I'm so awesome."

"While I both agree that you are awesome and smart and fucking adorable—"

"I never said that—"

"Shush, I'm saying something good about my boyfriend. You are awesome, smart _and_ adorable and highly capable of coming up with productive counterpoints, but I assure you, in this case there are none. When I say the topic is closed, it's closed, but I think you deserve points for saying something nice about yourself. If something comes to mind, We may revisit."

I don't know why, but I harumph as if I was finally right about something. Cas turns my face up to his for a sweet, searing kiss. My dick springs to life and my hips begin moving of their own accord. In a dance-like move I learned from Swazye, I'm straddling Cas and opening my shirt to expose my broad chest and chiseled abs. Cas splays one of his long-fingered hands over my left pec and looks up with me, amazed. "You really are beautiful, Winchester."

"If you were a pirate, would you abduct me, lock me in your ship's main cabin for days and make me have wild sex with you?"

He laughs. "Oh yes. I wouldn't let anyone set eyes on you. I'd make you take my cock in your mouth, your ass, night and day. In fact, I'd tie you up with your knees spread wide, ass-up and keep you plugged, so you would be ready to take my cock whenever I wanted."

" _Fuck._ " I fucking love Cas's dirty talk. "Is it really bedtime, Cas?"

He pulls me in for a kiss as he starts pulling down my boxers, exposing my warm and slightly throbbing ass, a finger slips down my crack. I buck my hips and feel his hard length and know my answer. It would take a level of will power that human's just don't have to deny that mammoth boner.

He breaks our kiss to push his middle finger into my mouth, over and over and I get it really wet knowing exactly where it's going. Cas takes it out and slowly starts working it into my ass, my cock, still trapped within my boxers. When his finger is worked all the way in, I'm pressing back, fucking it, moaning like a dirty whore. This feels dirty somehow and I like it. "You want me to put my cock in there?"

"Fuck yeah." I move my hands, so both are gripping his shoulders and continue fucking his finger.

"Naughty stowaways need to be taught a lesson about sneaking onto my ship."

His fingers are back, but this time it's two in my mouth. I can taste myself and that turns me on all the more. Then I'm fucking two of Cas's fingers, throwing my head back and biting my lip to keep myself quiet. We have to shift a little, so Cas can open his pants and pull his hard cock out, I lean over to the drawer in the end table beside the couch and grab the lube that's there and proceed to dump it all over his cock. "May I sit on your cock, Captain Novak? I want to show you how sorry I am for hitching a free ride."

"You may, but if you think sitting your pretty little ass on my cock one time is payment enough for the free ride, think again."

"I wouldn't dare, Captain Novak." I slide onto Cas's massive cock, slowly, allowing myself to adjust along the way. He still hasn't taken my boxers off, I don't think he's going to. "But I'm willing to make it up to you. Cabin boy Winchester, reporting for, mmmhmm, duty." I pull up and slam down.

"You may start off as a cabin boy, but with an ass like that, you'll make first mate in no time. Just keep that cock ready to go when I need it, or else," he says in that voice that sends a thrill through me.

"Aye, Cap'in."

"Now do your job. I want to sit back and do nothing, while you fuck yourself on my cock."

"Fuck you're gonna make me come if you keep talking like that, Cas."

He smacks my sore ass. "That's Captain Novak to you."

"Oh! Yes, sir." Cas digs his fingers into the tender flesh of my ass as I grip his shoulders again and slam my ass down on his cock. I get to watch Cas fall apart. It's divine. His head falls back to the soft couch cushions as he tries to keep his eyes on me and enjoy the view. I'm my own version of coming apart. Sweat beads down my chest. My open, blue, button-down moves with me as my cock aches inside my white boxers, straining against the fabric. The feeling of cotton is just enough touch to drive me mad. I work myself harder on Cas's dick, while he does nothing, but enjoy.

All his calm, cool and collect is lost when I start to come. I don't know what my face looks like in the heat of passion, but however it looks, it's something that sends Cas over the edge, combined with the muscles in my ass, squeezing around his cock. He pulls me into him and begins thrusting his cock upward, 'till he's coming too.

I collapse on him, both of us panting, both of us sweaty. I love Cas's sweat-smell. I start nibbling on his neck. "Mmm, Winchester, what are you trying to do? I don't have the stamina of a sixteen-year-old and it's past your bedtime anyway," he smirks.

"I know." Truth be told, I don't think I'm getting it up anytime soon either. "I just…love you."

"Love you too, Baby."

"And you taste oh so good," I say giving his neck another nip. And I swear to you everything thing felt all fine and dandy. We went to bed making fucking googly-eyes at each other, as we walked along a rainbow road and stopped to pet a field of fucking unicorns. But when it came time to do what Cas asked of me, I went for option two and tried to Dean Winchester my way out.


	28. Popcorn Balls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! I don't really have an A/N this time except to say I finally have time to reply to responses which I will! I so love chatting. Hope you enjoy this chapter. Thank you everyone for the kudos and continued support for this story. Couldn't do it without all the love. 
> 
> <3 Mocky

I stand back to admire my job (well done) as I take a long sip of beer. It's Saturday and with Nicky (who never seems to go home for long) I can do stuff for long periods of time without a Michael attached to my body. I decided it was time to paint the guest room, which will now be Michael's room. _And if the past couple days are anything to go by, Nicky's too._ It's a good thing I opted for bunk beds. That kid is fast becoming a barnacle here. Gotta say, don't mind it much. He's good with Michael. Something about the two of them slots together. One seems to bolster the other. I know one thing, they shouldn't be apart.

I can't help imaging what would have happened if Sammy and I had been separated. The thought alone makes the kid's snarky attitude easier to handle.

Cas knocks on the door before he enters. "Looks good in here."

We talked Michael into 'Irunman yellow,' which is a helluva lot easier to paint over someday than 'Irunman red,' his original choice. We can hang whatever red shit he wants on the wall. "Thanks, Cas. I'm done. Finally we can move all that furniture out of the garage."

"After we assemble it."

Fuck. Forgot about that. I should have paid the extra to have them build it at the store, but for the price they wanted, you'd think they were gonna bedazzle everything with diamonds too. "Yeah. How are the kids?"

"Good. I fed them."

I frown. "What about me, Cas?"

He pulls me to him by the collar of my shirt, even I can smell the beer on my breath as we kiss. "I've got stuff set aside for us. You ready to come eat?"

"Hell yeah." 'Cept now I've got a raging boner from him kissing me so hard. "You think, uh, think we have time to…"

"If we're quick, come with me, Winchester."

**

Michael and Nick are lying on the floor of the living room with all the fucking Legos dumped everywhere. "You two are cleaning this shit up," I tell Nick, because by 'you two,' I mostly mean him. Michael doesn't seem to get the concept of 'clean up' yet, even though he 'helps' me a little when I've tired to get some cleaning done.

"You're welcome for me looking after him while you two fondled each other upstairs," Nick smirks, not moving from his spot. He knows too fucking much and I don't think he cares as much as he's making out. He just wants to get me in trouble. Thankfully, Cas was in on said trouble, so I'm free and clear on that one.

The hard part is not saying anything back, because 'I'm the adult' according to Cas. I like the kid, but he's good at pushing my buttons. Truth is, I feel bad for him. He irritates me because I'm worried about him. When he makes his comments, I feel fucking bad, which I cover up with sarcastic (and usually funny) replies.

"Just clean up the Legos, smart-ass."

"Daddy look!" Michael says and holds up the thing he's building.

"Wow." I have no idea what the fuck it is. "You're a natural at that." I'm going make sure he thinks he's good at everything. We'll work on the how-to's later.

I follow Cas over to the kitchen where there's a large sandwich for me and a hefty dose of Cas's leveling glare. "What's with all the… that?" I say waving my hand around obviously refering to his sour expression. "Wait! All that sex was a ploy, wasn't it? A way to lull me into a false sense of security." I take a confident bite of my sandwich, pleased with myself for figuring it out.

"I wasn't lulling you into anything. I was merely horny and—"

For some reason everything he says right now is getting under my skin. Okay, it's not 'some reason,' it's an exact reason I know. He's trying to lead into the topic that shall not be named. "—I said I'd do it and I'll do, Cas. Jeez, can't you let a guy eat in peace?"

Now I'm getting the look. The I'm-treading-on-thin-ice look. He crosses one arm across his chest, tucking the hand in his armpit, the other runs through his hair. He's had more than enough of my bullshit. "I know how you work Winchester. If you intend on doing something, you do it yesterday. You have no plans on asking your brother, or I should say, your plans are to tell your brother, but the when is unspecified, which is ultimately never. Is that correct?"

"Well it's not, uncorrect."

His mouth twists into a s-shape, his other arm crosses to join the one at his chest. He's done. Had it up to here with Dean Winchester drama-fits and is going to tell me how it's going to go. "You'll tell him tonight."

I get all the usual feelings, the shock of tingles through me that go to my groin in a non-sexual way, the strange embarrassment at being a grown adult, yet having been told all the same; the sheer indignation of it all. Instead of kicking him out of my house, like another person might, I feel this pure relief that I can 'act-out' and he'll reign me back in, even if I'm not going to say it out loud.

I thought long and hard about counter-points, but none of them were better than: "To protect my pride" and "I don't borrow money from Sam" and "Borrowing money from Sam is stupid and I'm not doing it." Nothing Cas would see as a 'productive counter-point.' All I can do is stare at him with my jaw dropped, sandwich in my hand and try to sway him otherwise. "But Cas—"

"No. Over. Eat your sandwich before I spank you. It's not like you don't deserve it."

Cas is mad—I don't think I've seen him this mad. I may have been kind of a dick over the past few days, but only because I'm pissed off because of this totally unfair thing he's making me do. I've been carefully walking that line between spanking and _this_ and to be honest, I'm surprised he hasn't. He did swat my ass a couple times for said dickery, but so far, I've reigned it in at just the right times to avoid bare hand to ass contact.

Cas works on the dishes and immediately I feel like a dillhole. I hate upsetting him. But he has no idea what this is like for me. I'm breaking a promise with myself. I do shut up and eat my sandwich, but only because Cas made it for me. When I'm done, I quietly approach him, slipping my plate into the sink while simultaneously sliding my arms around his waist and nuzzle into his neck. "I'm sorry Cas, please forgive me?"

"Don't you attempt Winchester-charm on me, Winchester."

"C'mon Cas," kiss, kiss down the curve of his neck. "You know you want to," kiss, kiss, suck…

It tickles and he laughs. "Okay. _Okay._ I forgive you of course, but this doesn't change anything."

"I know. You've made your royal decree. I'm going to ask Sam, tonight."

Suddenly, a tiny person is slamming into my leg. Michael. He clutches tight. I move away from Cas so I can pick him up. He clings to my torso. "Hey. What's going on?"

"Missed you, Daddy. You gonna hang with me?"

"Sorry, he wouldn't be convinced otherwise," Nick says walking in to the kitchen.

"Sorry? You don't have to be sorry, Nick. It's not your job to look after him." I've probably been more of a dick to him too, because of my irritation than I needed to be too. "I am appreciative of you coming over and playing with him so much."

That embarrasses him. "He's my brother. Of course it's my job to look after him. Nothing that needs thanks."

Fuck. I've insulted him. I should know better. Fact: I completely understand. Little brothers are the responsibility of the older brothers and not the other way around. It's just, he shouldn't have to have so much responsibility at his age.

Nick walks over to the fridge and opens it, like he lives here or something (I'm going to have to find whoever's financially responsible for him and send them a bill) and helps himself to orange juice. "Ugh. This kind has freaking pulp," he says, but it doesn't seem to deter him from pouring himself a glass.

"Sorry your majesty," I say. "Don't you have somewhere to be? Friends to smoke on porches with?"

He takes a swig of pulp-infested OJ, making a face. "I can feel…bleh! It's like a fucking orange jizzed all over my tongue. Who drinks this shit?"

"That will be quite enough, Nicholas," Cas says confiscating the glass of orange juice from Nick. "Put the container back, please."

Nick does as told, but with a glare and Cas, who's had enough of bratty-brats, gives him the look he was giving me earlier. "Go sit at the table, Nicholas, you and I are having a chat, Dean, go hang with Michael."

I don't dare argue with Cas, lest the one-person talking to, turn into a two. And I know mine won't be limited to words.

**

I have no idea what the fuck Cas said to Nick, but I've never heard him speak so clean, least while he's in front of Michael. He's also a helluva lot more polite to both myself and to Cas. It's entertaining.

He's still excessively comfortable if you ask me, which no one has asked for anyone interested (also no one) and he no longer waits to be invited for meals, but assumes he's fucking staying. "You don't have to stay, you know. We got this, tonight with the added kids," I tell him.

"You trying to get rid of me, sir? You said I could stay, as much as I wanted."

 _Yeah, I said that. I just didn't think he'd take it literally._ "You don't have to call me, sir, though uh, maybe keep calling Cas that. He's big on respect. I'm not trying to get rid of you, I just think teens should have friends and get into trouble with them."

I'm changing Michael's diaper, Nick's helping, or in other words hanging over my shoulder. "You worried about me or something, Winchester?"

"I said you didn't have to call me, sir, not to forgo respect all together. I'm still an adult."

"Marginally."

I narrow my eyes at him.

"Fine. _Dean._ "

"Yeah, I'm worried about you dumb-ass. You're Michael's big brother, that makes you family."

"I'm telling Cas you swore in front of Michael."

"Ha! Jokes on you, I can swear in front of him all I want." Wait. That sounded better in my head. "I'll tell him you called him Cas."

That shuts him up on that topic. "Seriously though, what would you have been doing at my age, Dean? Leaving crap-bombs on doorsteps in paperbags?"

No. My dad would have kicked my ass. "I was looking after my little brother," I admit. "But Cas and I are real adults, with time—"

"Really?"

"Fine, I'm not a 'real' adult, but Cas is, unlike your mama. And unlike my dad, we have time enough to take proper care of this guy," I say poking Michael's belly. He giggles.

I don't miss that Michael looks on at the two of us and I can _see_ what he's thinking. He's noticing our father-son bond which after hearing it over and over and well, I can _feel_ Michael and I have, it's pretty rad.

I don't want Nick feeling like an outsider though. I'm Dean Winchester. I don't think, I do. I sling an arm around him and muss up his hair. "Since you don't need to impress anyone."

"Hey!"

Before he can retaliate, I've already picked up Michael who's in a diaper and a t-shirt and use him as my shield. Michael's laughing.

"That's not fair. Using him to block me." Nick's complaining, but I can see that smile trying to break from his lips. It's pretty hard to make him smile, but I've been able to crack him a few times. He's plays tough, but I think he likes me and Cas.

"Daddy, I gots no clothes," Michael says, doing his thing where he pats himself. He's patting his leg.

"Okay, big guy. Let's get you ready to play with the kids."

**

When I open the door to admit my brother and brother-in-law, something's different. I know because I have a hunch for this kind of thing. Something's…off. Second thought, off might not be the right word, but something is up.

Matt and Logan grab a leg. "Uncle Dean!"

"Hey guys," I say with a hand to each of their heads. Cas has Michael on account I'm supposed to pull Sam aside and talk to him.

Nick is here and he's chosen to sit on the stairs, in the background of the doorway. Of course Sam, family welcome committee, desperately wants to meet him. "You must be Nick. Hi, welcome." Sam pushes past me and reaches to shake Nick's hand.

Nick, having never met my brother, falls for it and is pulled into a solid bear hug before he can do anything about. I watch on with glee as he's grousing. Something about the kid makes me want to harass the living shit out of him. All with extreme caring.

"Great to have you in the family." Sam stands back and appraises him.

Nick's doing the same. "What do I call you?"

"Sam is fine."

Gabe, who has made his way inside by this point, pushes past me to shake Nick's hand. "How you doing kiddo?"

Nick gives a grunt in proper teenage fashion.

"Gabe. Sam's my main squeeze," said as Gabe looks up to his 'main squeeze' with utter adoration. Sam puts an arm around him smiling down.

I roll my eyes. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't have sex in front of the children."

"Right, you're enough of a bad influence as is," Sam says.

Cas is looking on at me expectantly. This is where I'm supposed to pull Sam aside and tell him about the financial situation with the psychologist. He'll turn on that concerned puppy dog face of his and say, "Yeah Dean, whatever you need." Then I'll start feeling like the world's biggest chump for the rest of my life. Fuck that. "Don't you two have a reservation to make?"

"As a matter of fact we do," Gabe says. "I got us in at Glowbal. There's even an oyster bar." He elbows Sam.

"Har, har, we all know what oysters do, you're hilarious," I say.

Meanwhile, Nick actually is laughing, a sound none of us has really heard yet.

"You find _him_ funny?" I ask.

He shrugs. "I guess."

"What the?"

"I dunno. Something about him's…" Nick can't finish talking because apparently he's overcome with the fucking giggles.

"I think I like this kid, Dean-o. And don't think you're kicking us out too soon, we came earlier because, well, I want to talk to you for a minute—Sam wants to talk to Cas."

Oh? I say that with my eyebrows, as Cas is saying with his eyebrows and his face and his fucking crossed arms (stupid crossed, business arms) that I should be asking to have a conversation with Sam. "Actually, Cas, I was hoping to talk to you for a sec," Sam says.

"Uncle Dean, Uncle Dean! Can we go start watching TV?" Matt asks.

"Uh, yeah." It's no secret that's what they do here, but tonight we were going to do things a little different. Logan runs off with him. Michael, predictably, thinks he's going to be sent off to play with the kids, so he reaches for me. Cas passes him over.

"I can hang with you, Daddy," he says. It's not really a question.

"'Course, grease monkey. We're gonna hang all night but—"

"C'mere Mikey," Nick says jumping up to take him from me. "We gotta let the grown-ups talk."

Michael goes to Nick because, I imagine, that's what he's used to. Except now, I'm thrown into that mix somewhere and it confuses him. He doesn't complain when Nick takes him away to the room with the other boys. "So what's up Gabe?"

"Actually, I was hoping for somewhere more private?" Gabe says.

"Yeah, me too, Cas," Sam says.

"All right, Winchester, take Gabe to the kitchen, I'll chat with Sam upstairs then you wanted a turn talking to Sam I believe."

Fucking Cas. "Yeah, I do." And I know his game too. The kitchen, above the fridge is where he keeps his paddle, the one I'm not allowed to touch unless it's to bring it to him for a spanking. Well I'll show him, I'm not going to think about it. After now.

When Gabe and I are in the kitchen, I lean against the counter, not looking at, or thinking about above the fridge at all. "What the hell is up with you two?"

Gabe's face is twisted with embarrassment. He's embarrassed. Totally, unlike Gabe. "Look, you're the only one I have to talk about this with, so can you try not to be an jackass for five seconds?"

"Whoa, touchy. I'm not trying to be a jackass, that's natural talent."

"You know what? Forget it, this was stupid."

"No, wait." 'Cause now I have to know. "I'll stop being me."

He sighs. "Your brother wants to do the thing you and Cas do."

It takes me a few minutes, because there are a lot of things me and Cas do, but Sam only concretely knows about one. My eyes practically pop out of my skull. "Sam wants to spank your ass? Run. Head for the hills. We can go to Mexico together."

That gets a smile out of him and he relaxes some. "You clearly get something out of it, or you wouldn't be looking at him like a star-stuck groupie all the damn time."

"I do not look at Cas that way." And even if I do, so what? I fucking love Cas.

"You do and I know it's more than just the Kelly Kapowski vibes you've been sending. There's, I dunno, something."

"I don't love him more because he spanks me Gabe."

"No it's not that. It's like…" he snaps his fingers. "He completes you."

"Okay Jerry Maguire."

"I'm serious. You could have a good, even a great relationship with someone else who doesn't, you know."

He can't even fucking say it. I smirk. "You sure about that, Gabe? This is me we're talking about." I'm sure it's just Cas for me.

"Yeah, I'm sure. It may have taken you another ten years, but you would have found someone and it would have been, fine. But it wouldn't have had all the puzzle pieces. Something about this closes a circle for you. I've never seen you this happy."

I can't argue that.

"When Sam first approached me, I was resistant, but I couldn't say no to the look on his face he gets when he thinks he's come up with a really good idea. So even though I'm not a huge reader, I agreed to read your boyfriend's book."

"You got Sam to read it to you, didn't you?"

"Yeah, yeah. Okay, at first I did, but the subject is fascinating. Whether I agreed or not, I couldn't put the thing down. As I kept reading, I saw how many couples have been helped by this 'method.' But it wasn't 'till I got to the chapter titled, _Alpha-Brat,_ that I thought this could work at all."

"Alpha-Brat?"

"Haven't you read the book?"

"Some of it, but hello, clingy three-year-old." And new boyfriend Cas. When Michael goes to bed, we have a lot of adult fun-time.

"Okay, let's see if I can reiterate. I pictured this whole thing going down like I saw on a Jerry Springer episode once. Sam says something and I obey. He says, I dunno, fuck a traffic cone and I'm supposed to do that whether I want to or not."

"You're way off base, dude." I can't help fucking laughing. I know I'm supposed to not be _me_ about this, but he just said the words, 'fuck a traffic cone,' in reference to sex and I'm far too Dean to handle sentences like that. I think even Abraham Lincoln would break after hearing that.

"Yeah, I know, okay? Just let me…so anyway, Sam elaborated and you know he talks a mean bargain."

"'Cause I sent him to lawyer school."

He rolls his eyes. "Yes, this is your fault. Knew I'd be able to blame you some how."

"Shutting up."

He huffs. "I'd have better luck having this conversation with Michael."

He's not wrong. "Or a traffic cone."

He hits me for that one as I break down at how funny I am. "Sam explained the inner workings of a domestic discipline relationship in a way I could understand, but it still sounded to me like I'd have no autonomy. Like I'd have to be some meek little, weak-willed person—that's just not me. My job is one hundred percent take charge, I didn't feel like I fit the stereotypical imagine of what Cas calls the 'taken in hand'."

"Do I seem weak-willed to you?"

"No. You never have, which was why I didn't really _get_ it between you two. I supported it, because I could see how happy you were, but I didn't understand. Then I read the book, the chapter on _Alpha-Brats_ turned things around for me. I actually think…well I think I fit the general definition well. Too well."

Now I'm fucking curious. "And what did the magic book say about Alpha-Brats?"

"I'm getting there—but you should read it yourself."

"I will." I'm pretty sure Cas is going to make sure I read it cover to cover now that I've been getting more sleep and that I do end up with some free time on account of Nick.

"But an Alpha-Brat is someone who benefits from the structure of a domestic discipline relationship, while still running some of their own ships. In my case, that's my job. I make a lot of the calls, I'm in charge, that's who I am and's not going to change. Even among other brats, I'm likely to take lead." 

"Hey, that sounds like me too."

"Forget it Dean-o, you're lower on the brat totem pole than me any day."

"Why does there have be a totem pole? And why am I at the bottom?"

"That's not important right now. The point I'm trying to get to, is knowing domestic discipline doesn't take away me, who I am, well I told Sam yes and we tried some stuff, but the book says it's important to have a brat ally. Cas calls it a network, but all the other brats in the book called it having an ally. I think that means something."

"Fuck yeah. Does this mean we can like, get out of trouble and stuff together?"

"I looked into that and no. If anything it sounds like we'd get into more trouble, not less."

"Then why do it?"

"False sense of security, which in turn gives us a real sense of unity?"

I shrug. Sounds good to me.

"All the brat-types rec'd it and Cas did, but for other reasons. Cas, or _Dr. Novak,_ says it's good to talk out any instance you're having trouble with and get another perspective."

"I hate to rain on the parade here, but that's 'Dr. Novak's' solution to everything."

"Yeah, but only we can really understand one another, 'cause you know, we feel the same way, inside."

He's looking at me so hopefully. I can't even make fun of him—this is the biggest chick flick moment we've ever had and I can't fucking make fun of him. I'm still using that traffic cone thing later. I put a firm hand on his shoulder. "I know the feeling Gabe. I will be your ally."

"I don't get it. I didn't even know it was there 'till Sam brought this up and I started reading. Actually, no. That's not true. I've been feeling it in different ways since I was a kid, but I didn't know what it was. Now I do. Cas's book just highlighted it for me, made me realize there are others like me."

Huh. Come to think of it. "Me too, Gabe. Me too."

**

"So what did you want to talk to me about Dean?" That's Sam.

"What did you talk to Cas about?" I bet you they formed a fucking Top alliance, except their's would be called Top Convention. No, Top Masterminds. No Top Central.

"Nuh-uh, I asked you first, dude."

"Fine." This is the moment. _The_ moment I'm supposed to ask Sam what Cas said I'm supposed to. It's more than that. I know. I fucking know okay? Cas and I have talked about it. Yes the topic was 'closed,' whether I'd tell Sam or not was not in those discussions, but he and I did talk about feelings and it was the biggest load of The-Notebook-Drama, you've ever seen. I agree with Cas, but it doesn't mean I want to fucking do this. It's actually nice that Cas took away all other options. All I have to do is ask. Here goes. "I need a favor. Like a really big favor."

"Of course Dean. Anything."

Sammy and I harass the shit out of each other. We grind each others gears, hell we even purposely try to piss each other off, sometimes, but we know when the other is serious and it's time to pay attention. Sam's got his concerned eyes boring into me. I don't like Sam being concerned about me. I concern myself about him—that's how it is. What would Dad say if he knew I was borrowing money from Sammy? Dad charged me with his care, not the other way around. I'm supposed to look after Sam and now Michael too. Sorry Cas. I can't fucking do it.

"I need you to use your fancy lawyer skills to track down Nick's dad. I think there's something going on there."

His eyebrows pinch together, to look like a soft non-threatening caterpillar, unlike Cas's whose will form an eagle swooping to catch its prey, me, if he finds out what I've done. If. "Of course I can Dean, but I don’t think it will call for anything too fancy. Nick won't tell you?"

"No and Cas and I think it's best we find out for ourselves," I lie smoothly. Cas is of course, completely against that idea. "For Nick's and Michael's protection."

"Why Michael's protection?"

Fuck. Why did I say that? "What if he's a crazy and comes here looking for Nick? Better we nip this in the bud. You'll help us won't you?" The 'us' will make it sound like Cas is in on it. Sure I feel a little bad lying to Sam and for the future lies I'm going to have to tell to Cas, like forever, but it's all for a good cause. My pride.

"Of course, Dean. I'll get on this Monday morning."

"Thanks and no rush."

"No rush? I thought you were worried about crazy Dads?"

"I am. I just don't want to… Jesus, it's hard enough for me to ask for shit, okay Sammy? Do you have to make it harder?"

"Whoa okay, Dean. Jeez. I get it. And hey, I was going to ask you, did you still need money for—"

"I don't need any money from you Sam." Did fucking Cas say something to him? Oh no, right, I did.

"Why are you so touchy?"

Crap. Abort. _Abort._ I have to pull out of this and fast. "Because, you keep trying to give me money. You know I hate that."

"You did ask, Dean."

"I asked if you would be a _just in case,_ back up. That's it Sam. And that time has not come. So fucking leave it."

"All right. Fine Dean. You're like Dad sometimes you know? I'm going to say this even if you bite my head off, I've got lots if you need it."

"I don't need it."

"You're impossible sometimes, Dean. Have it your way." He's irritated, but he'll forgive me.

I feel pretty good getting out of that one, but when I see Cas, my stomach feels like it's just plunged into an ice bath. Lying to Sam is one thing, I've done that multiple times, but lying to Cas, that's a whole other ball game. How would I act if I'd just told Sam I needed his money? I'd probably look ashamed with a good dose of pissed off, so I do that now. When Cas gives me the concerned Darth Vader look, I know I've pulled it off. Only thing that would fuck it up, is Sam saying something.

I'm saved by the Gabe. "C'mon Sam, Honey. Oysters await us. They'll give our table away if we don't get their on time."

Sam rolls his eyes since there's no way that's true. They might give away my table, but not Gabriel's, director and producer of Blockbuster movies Gabriel. He's a bit of a celebrity.

The kids are too zombified in front of the TV to say goodbye, so Gabe and Sam take off out the door and leave me alone with Casifer. He's going to fucking quiz me. I know it. I try not to let on how fucking nervous I am. "You asked your brother, Winchester?"

He makes it out like it's a fucking question, but it's not. "Course I did, Cas," I say, with just the right amount of annoyance which isn't hard considering this is actually fucking annoying me.

"Good. Then you won't mind if I ask him," he says all smug.

It's not hard to "act" pissed off. I am. "You don't trust me. Thanks a fucking lot Cas."

"Watch your tone."

I can't ignore the steel in his voice. I'm already attuned to it. I don't feel ashamed exactly, but there are these butterflies fluttering in my abdomen. Chagrined. I think what I feel is chagrined. "Sorry."

"I do trust you, normally, but call it a Top's sixth sense, I don't believe you right now."

That guts me, mostly because he's right. _Stupid Cas's spidey senses._

"This is not something you should lie about. If you have lied, I will give you one more opportunity to tell me the truth. Would you like to edit your answer?"

I should out with the truth. I most definitely should. But irritation wins out. "We talked about the money, he said he'd give me whatever I needed." That's not a lie at all. All of those things happened.

Cas's expression changes. "Okay Winchester, I'm sorry. I must be off. Forgive me?"

I'm sorry? Forgive me? This feels too good to be true—to finally have one over on Cas. I remember it isn't real for a second, but I shove that way to the back of my brain and focus on: Cas is apologizing to me. It feels like Christmas. I wonder what he'd say if I said, "I dunno, I'm pretty hurt. You should have to make it up to me."

He grabs my wrist and pulls me to him. "What do you want, Winchester?"

"To watch my show on Monday."

"No. I don't do that. The punishment stands, but good to know how much you dislike it," he smirks. He peers an eye toward the kids who we can see from where we're standing, with their eyes glued to the boob tube, then starts kissing his way down my neck.

"Not fair Cas—"

"—I can add an extra Monday."

"But you wouldn't, would you?"

"I would." He would.

"How about we go back to talking rewards?"

"I'd say that's a good choice."

"How about later you do that thing with your tongue in my ass?" I say close to his ear.

"I'll do more than that, Winchester."

**

We pull the kids away from the TV to make them do an activity we have planned. Yeah. We planned an activity. Something Cas apparently did with a family friend when he was younger. He came up with the idea, Michael and I went to pick up what we needed when he was at work. We've got the younger kids set up on chairs near the counter, Nick's close by. "Do I really have to participate?" Nick asks.

"Yes, you do," Cas says. Nick listens to Cas, especially when he's no nonsense like that. "It will be good for you."

"Fine. What asinine thing do you have planned?"

Cas gives him his look of extreme disapproval. "Do you remember what I said would happen, if you continued to behave poorly?"

"I-I, yeah."

"Yes, sir," he corrects. "Remind me, please."

Nick blushes fifty shade of pink. He looks at his feet. "That you'd give me a time out, like a little freaking kid," he mumbles.

Oh my god, Cas said that? Of course he did.

"That's right. There is a particular standard I expect from everyone in this home."

"Us too?" Matt asks on behalf of his twin.

"You too."

"Me too, Cas?" Michael's little voice says. _Wow. My kid. The teacher's pet._

"You too, my lad." He gives Michael's head a ruffle.

You'd think Nick would be more pissed off. It's easy to see he's irked, but he's relaxed at the same time. He actually smiles a small smile.

"Besides, you'll be sorry you missed out. We're making a childhood classic." The younger kids are hanging on Cas's every word, Nick looks like he'd like to tell Cas to hurry the fuck up. "Popcorn balls."

"Wow," Logan says.

"Wow," Michael repeats, which makes me fucking smile. He's trying to be like his big cousin. It does something to me; makes some of the shards of pain stabbing at me inside, relax a little (since I worry about Michael constantly). It's also a cozy sort of feeling. Like being inside on a rainy day. _Michael's got people and he's going to make happy memories with them._

"How do you make popcorn balls?" Nick asks in spite of himself.

"I'm going to show you. Step one is making the popcorn."

For all of Cas's stern, strictness, he can be a lot of fun. Making the popcorn is an experience. He doesn't use an air popper, he makes it in a pan on the stove with a lid over top. He waits until we can all hear the popcorn popping. "Should we check on how the popcorn is doing?" he asks.

Michael doesn't know how to answer. Matt and Logan laugh knowing you're not supposed to lift the lid on popping corn. "Don't do that. It'll go everywhere," Nick scolds. He's this strange mix of moody, mouthy teen and responsible, reliable young adult. _Reminds me of someone I used to know._

Cas gets a mischievous twinkle in his eye. He lifts the lid. The popcorn starts popping everywhere and the little kids end up in hysterics, their little giggles just raising over the sound of the popcorn. Nick scowls at Cas, who starts yelping for effect, making the other kids laugh harder. I join in trying to catch some and eat it. "Hey!" Michael says. "Daddy's eatin' it all." He's still laughing.

Cas replaces the lid, so we'll have some popcorn to make popcorn balls. "Great now there's  
a big mess," Nick says.

"Nothing that can't be cleaned up," I say and pull out the broom.

"But—"

"—Make popcorn balls, Nicholas," I say mock-sternly. He does.

I watch them as I sweep up around Cas. He dumps the popcorn into a big bowl. "Who wants to add the honey?"

"Me!" the twins say at the same time. Michael, not wanting to be left out does the same.

"We'll all take turns," Cas says looking at Nick. And they do. Each kid gets a turn pouring some honey into the bowl with the popcorn, including Nick. Cas adds the salt. "Okay, now for the fun part, everyone roll up their sleeves."

Of course Nick jumps in to help Michael first, while Cas helps Matt and I help Logan. I'm quick, so I decide to jump in and "help" Nick, as soon as he's done helping Michael. "Must you?" He's not willing to risk Cas's ire by being lipping me off, but he does try to shrug me off. I chase him and make him let me help him.

"You like it."

Cas lets them all dig in and mix the popcorn, salt and honey together, which they think is the best thing that ever happened to them—the little kids, Nick looks squeamish at having to touch sticky honey. When that's done, Cas shows them how to make ball-shapes then places them onto the wax-paper lined tray we pre-set up. I step in to help Michael to ensure Nick can make some of his own. Matt and Lo are fine on their own with some extra guidance from Cas. "Do we want to put sticks in them, or eat them with our hands?"

"Hands," the younger kids answer with one "Sticks," from Nick.

"We'll do some of both," Cas says. "And while they dry, we melt the chocolate."

The kids have fun and make a huge mess, pouring chocolate on the popcorn balls. We didn't have enough aprons, so we decided on no aprons, and to wash their shirts immediately after.

"What was the point in rolling up sleeves? They're shirts are covered in chocolate anyway," Nick says.

"Sometimes getting your shirt dirty is half the fun," Cas says.

When their creations are finished, all the kids want to taste, even Nick. "We have to let them dry," Cas explains. "But it will give us enough time to throw our shirts in the wash, pee and change anyone's diaper that might need a change."

"Me, Cas," Michael says. "Me! Me!"

It's a bit of a process to do all that, but even laundry is fun in the aftermath of making popcorn balls; they're all talking about eating them. "Irunman eats one 'a those, Daddy?" Michael asks.

"Uh, I don't think so, big guy. It'll clog up his parts."

The kids have a freaking blast eating popcorn balls; even Nick can't deny liking them. They're ecstatic when Cas tells them he's going to send popcorn balls home with Matt and Logan and Nick, this includes Michael who seems to be excited over whatever his cousins are tonight. Then we pop them all into the bath and dress them in pajamas after which, we do watch a movie to settle them down and Cas tells them all a story before Sam and Gabe make it back.

I'm so caught up in the fun, I've forgotten all about my act of deception. Lucky for me, the kids are still way too excited about popcorn balls and are recounting the tale for their parents, which means no one's thinking about earlier conversations. "Sounds like Uncle Cas is a lot of fun," Sam says looking at Cas who in turn is touched by being called "Uncle Cas."

When Nick's gone and Michael's in bed, I'm already considering coming clean with Cas. I know what that will mean though—I'll have to actually tell Sam and fuck, Sam'll be pissed at me too. I'm not as worried about that though, Sam'll forgive me, eventually. He has to, but Cas doesn't. Now I've created new problems. "Why are you sitting in the dark, Winchester?" Cas says.

"Just tired, Cas. Aren't we going up to bed?"

"We are, but don't you want your reward?"

Do I? It's one I don't deserve, but right now, my dick doesn't care. It's already at attention. I'm in just my boxers, thinking we'd head back up to the bedroom once we'd cleaned and locked up down here. "Look, you're all ready to receive," he says prowling up to me.

"I went pee."

"And came back down almost naked?"

I waggle my brows at him, which he can hopefully make out in the scant moonlight coming in through the open curtains, which we should shut. "Get your bubble butt over here, Baby."

Cas attacks me, going to his knees in front of where I'm sitting on the couch. Before I can stop him, or say anything for that matter, he's got my thick-man legs pushed back and he yanks my boxers up them to access my hole. He spreads my cheeks apart and dives in, flicking his tongue at my pucker, dipping it in, sucking and licking. "Fuck," I say. "Fuck, _Cas._ "

"I know Baby. I'm going to make you come. Just enjoy."

Cas pulls at my dick and sheathes it with his hot mouth as his thumb presses into my wet hole. When he deems it wet enough, he returns to licking and sucking my entrance, but this time he adds stroking my cock to the playbill. I'm in the most compromised position as I'm being debauched, the things Cas is doing makes it so I can't think, when he adds a few well placed spanks to the mix, it's overwhelming. All I can think about is me being in this position, legs up, spread, bare feet hanging, moaning helplessly as Cas uses that fucking tongue of his; deadly in all ways. The combo (and yes Cas is so right) is humiliating enough I fucking come hard as he spanks, licks and strokes me through orgasm.

I'm out of breath when he's pulling my boxers off and cleaning me up, I can't move. He hops up on the couch with me and yanks me so I'm on top of him. He's still wearing a t-shirt and pajama pants. We got our pajamas on when the kids did, so it could be a pajama party. "I know what you did was really hard, Dean. Thank you for doing it. You're my good boy." He kisses my head and continues to stroke my hair.

Simultaneously, my dead dick flinches at that kind of embarrassing praise, while my stomach deepens the pit it already opened for business, earlier. Fuck. I hate myself. Why didn't I do what I was told? He's right. It's going to end in my asking Sam anyway; much as I hate it; I need the money. Michael's already doing so much better with me here and Nick here. I can't keep seven jobs and be a present Daddy. Okay. I'll come clean tomorrow. I'll feel better. First thing, I'll do it. I'll get the spanking from hell, but Cas will forgive me, won't he? Of course he will. He will.

Right?


	29. The Sounds of my New Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> News! News! 
> 
> So even though this storyline is coming to a close, the characters are not. I am going to wrap up this story in the 32 chapters designated (with possible Epilogue) 
> 
> BUT! I have spent the last week writing over 10K for this story that goes beyond this story. I'm going to do fun Time Stamps for this story which will take a little pressure off Mock (Each Time Stamp can be a mini-story and no one will have to wait for a conclusion) and I can still dip into this verse. Therefore it's ending, not ending. 
> 
> Also, I'm going to write this story to completion, which means I'm going to put all my efforts into the last chapters of this story before continuing on with my others. At the rate I've been writing this story, that shouldn't take too long. 
> 
> Two warnings for this chapter: 
> 
> 1) You will not see Dean's punishment yet. For some reason I feel like I need to announce that--LOL. But believe me you WILL see it next chapter. 
> 
> 2) The thing Dean says he's going to do in the beginning of this chapter, he doesn't do, so sit back, relax and enjoy the Dean drama. I hope that part will be laughed at. I know me having to say it, means my writing skill was not able to achieve this--it didn't. The rest got too angsty for that, but the angsty parts were necessary. It was supposed to be a whole lot funnier. So yeah, just laugh at him. He won't be laughing for very long.

Sunday. I'm tired. Last night was a bad night with Michael. But the other two were okay, so I think we're on an up swing. Right now though, I feel like I’m dying from tired. Spilling my guts to Cas is not the first thing I'm raring to do, so I don't. It feels worse today somehow. It's hard to look at Cas and not think about his reaction when I tell him. And it's not just about the spanking I'm going to inevitably receive (though it's a little about that) but he trusted me and rewarded me for that trust and I let him. There were so many times I could have stopped him, but I'm only man. I'm weak. Sex turns off my brain.

He didn't even come. He took care of me completely. Even after, he knew I was tired and that the potential of me being up with Michael was high, so he brought me straight to bed. Dean Winchester, thy name is asshole. This is why I don't get into relationships. The only thing to do is…I can barely think it… _break up with Cas._

I'm a shitty boyfriend, an even worse DD partner, he can do better. I take a deep breath, my world crumbling around me—I have to do it. It might as well be now. I watch Cas breathe while he sleeps. Fuck. I'm so in love with him. This going to be hard. But that's why I have to do it—I love him and when you love someone, you let him go. Someone important said that once.

I shake Cas awake, prepared to tell him about my lies and manipulation, prepared to break it off, but when he opens his sleepy eyes all that comes out is, "I'm going down to make coffee, Michael's still here, you said you wanted to make sure I tell you."

"Kay, Winchester." I love how he says my name. I kiss his lips soft, like it might be the last time—no fuck, I'm going to kiss him better than this for the last time, it will involve tongue, this is not our last kiss—and head downstairs.

I start coffee, in just my boxers. I'm so distracted I forgot a housecoat, thinking of how I'm going to break all this to Cas—fuck! how am I going to break all this to Michael? I'll likely have to set up some sort of visitation—when the door bell rings. I bring my coffee with me and open the door to Nick who simply walks past me without a hello and heads into the kitchen.

I shut the door, glaring at the back of him and follow him back to the kitchen, to where he's already helping himself to fresh coffee. I'm about to lay into him for walking in the house with his shoes on, not bothering to call before he came, lecture him on teenagers drinking coffee, or hell, at least say hello as you walk in the damn door, when I note his condition.

His hair is a mess (very un-Nick like, he has a thing about neat hair), his clothes look like he slept in them and there's…there's a red mark on his face. He sits down at the table and stirs sugar into his black coffee. "You look like fucking shit," I say.

"You need pants."

"I didn't know company was coming, 'cause someone broke the rules and didn't fucking call."

"Sorry," he says very quietly.

That's not like him either. He's supposed to have a witty comeback. I sit at the table with him, mug of coffee clenched in my fist. These two, Michael and Nicky, get under your skin. Like with Michael, I already fucking care about this kid. Something happened to him and I want to know. I have a deep urge to protect him.

He doesn't like questions about his dad, so I start with others. "Where did you sleep last night, Nicky?"

He doesn't even say anything about me calling him "Nicky."

"Under the porch."

"Fuck. Nick. _Never_ do that again."

There's an intense moment where he's searing me with his eyes, but then he breaks down into tears. "I'm sorry, I didn't know where else to go—there's nowhere for m-me, D-Dean."

I move closer to him and pull him to me. "Hey, hey, kid, sorry. I'm not good at this. That's not what I meant. I meant you should have come inside. You always have a place here, kid, understand? You're family. Understand?" I say with more flare and squeeze him just this side of too hard.

"Yeah," he sniffles. "Th-thank you."

He's a good kid. Fucking lippy and moody and irritating at times, but made of good stuff. Like Michael. Somehow, despite everything these kids have been through, they've come out good, just wanting someone to fucking love them.

_Now I really am going to need fucking money from Sam._

"So we're clear about the sleeping outside thing? It's not allowed."

He pulls away from me and wipes his eyes, embarrassed about crying like I would be. "Yeah. We're clear. I wasn't—"

"I know you didn't do this so I'd offer, but I'm offering all the same." I give him space and he goes back to staring into his coffee. "You're killing me though kid, can you tell me anything? Like maybe how you got that mark on your face. Your dad do that?" I'm not supposed to ask, but I can't help it.

"No. Is that the condition? I can stay here but I have to tell you about my dad?"

"There are no conditions, kid. None. Love without conditions here."

That gets the opposite reaction to what I was going for. He throws the coffee mug against the wall, it breaks, coffee's everywhere. He pushes up and storms out of the kitchen, heading for the door.

"Dammit, Nick!"

My brain kicks in and I realize what it will look like if me, a grown man runs out in his underwear to chase after a kid. "Fuck!" That's to no one in particular as I watch Nick from the door. I head up the stairs taking them two at a time and back to the bedroom where Michael's letting Cas change his diaper. "What's all the commotion?" Cas says. Michael's looking at me like he knows something's up.

"Nick," I say as I grab a shirt and pair of sweat pants. I give Cas the Cole's notes. "I'm going to go out and look for him."

"Wait. We'll come with you."

Me, Cas, Michael and Ironman pile into the Impala (Michael mildly complains about that seat, but 'going to look for Nicky' is enough to get him on board) and we drive around the block like madmen. Cas keeps trying Nick's cell phone to no avail. "I didn't mean to send him away, Cas," I say when it looks like we're not going to have any luck.

"I know, Dean. What you did was a good thing, it was just hard for him to hear. Probably unbelievable. I don't know what's going on with his father, but with his mother, he didn't get what you were offering. It triggered him. He'll be back. His bond with Michael is too strong. Would you ever leave Sam for long?"

Cas is right. As usual. Who am I going to have to make sense in my life when he's gone? "No."

As we pull up to the house, feeling defeated, I catch a puff of smoke coming from the porch. "Why that little—I'll kill him!" I say, not bothering to pull into the garage and parking in the driveway. I'm focused on the kid as I put the car in park, slam the door to the Impala and storm over to him.

He must see the rage in my eyes as he hastily puts out his cigarette and holds up his hands in surrender. "I'm sorry, look I—"

I pull him to me and squeeze him to death. I'm having that parent moment where I don't know whether to spank him, or keep hugging him. I settle on firm scolding. "Another thing you're never to do. Don't take off like that. You scared the bejeezus out of us."

By this point, Michael and Cas have caught up with us. Michael's sucking on his soother, but he pulls it out to comment. "Friends," he says to Cas pointing at us.

"Yeah, we're friends, bud," I say releasing Nick from the hug, but tugging on the sleeve of his jacket to keep him close as I unlock the door.

I'm shoving him inside as I hear Michael's little voice, "Wait for me, Daddy."

I turn and watch his little legs take the stairs one at a time. He runs over to me and I scoop him up. Cas is smiling on at me. I don't deserve his smiles. I head in the house with Michael.

**

So it's been a morning. We all realize that as we sit at the table, coffee is still dripping off the wall. I don't know what to say, but I feel like I should say something. Michael's on Nick's lap telling Ironman about his morning. "Cas changes my diaper Irunman, to see Daddy. We go into Daddy's car and vroom! We is finding Nicky. Nicky's on the porch. Daddy? What we gonna do now?"

I tousle his hair. "Have breakfast big guy."

He pops in his soother and reaches for me. He didn't get his Daddy hug this morning—I didn't get my Michael one. He squeezes into me. He's still in his pajamas and bare feet. He leans his head my chest and we enjoy each other. I grab onto one of his feet and sway him back and forth.

Cas does what he's good at and takes the reigns. Thank fucking God. I really don't know what to do. After scolding him, I'm out. Saying nice things frightened him away. Cas crosses his business arms. "Nicholas, want to explain what happened?"

"Not really."

"Do it anyway, please."

I'm shocked to Hell when he complies. "I was in a bad mood and I couldn't handle what Dean was saying. It was stupid."

He's articulate for a teen. He can be so 'adult,' sometimes. It all comes from being a parent at too soon. "You came back though," I say.

"Yeah, uh, I wasn't sure if…but I couldn't leave…"

He wasn't sure if he could come back, but he couldn't leave Michael. "But you know now you can come back?"

"I, I think so."

"Wrong answer kid. You wanna try that one again?"

"I thought he was the bossy one?"

"Nick."

"I know, okay? Jeez." He picks at the sleeve of his coat.

"I hear you slept outside last night," Cas says casually. The kid looks really uncomfortable. He doesn't answer. "Nicholas."

"Is _that_ the condition to me staying?"

What's with all his fucking conditions talk?

I watch, interested as Cas appraises him. "Would it be easier for you if you knew all the rules?"

"If I break the rules, will that get me kicked out?"

"Rule number one," Cas says without answering him. "No one is allowed to kick Nicholas out." Cas gets dramatic and fishes a pen and notepad out of the drawer beside the fridge. He writes it down. "Does that help?"

He stares at it. "A little but—"

Cas forestalls him with his hand. "I don't imagine this is enough to make you feel secure, that takes time. It's just a start. I will make sure you know the rules of our home. Breaking rules will end in consequences, but being sent away is not one of them."

Nick nods.

"Did your father send you away?" Cas point blanks him.

He doesn't answer.

Cas moves in front of him and crouches so he's looking up at Nick. "Whatever the answer is, I'll make sure you're taken care of Nicholas. Personally. Do you believe me?"

He bites his lip and nods.

"What happened with your father?"

"He, he's got a wife who doesn't exactly like me. When I showed up, well let's just say Dean was more welcoming than she was."

"You were smoking on my porch dude. FYI, that doesn't attract hand written invitations."

I actually get a smile from him.

"Your father's wife doesn't like you, so you he sent you away?" Cas asks.

"Not right away. He was willing to entertain I might be his son since we kinda look alike and went through the whole paternity thing with me."

I can tell by the look on his face, he was excited about that, but I sense there's a terrible ending to this tale and it's already tearing at my heart. This poor fucking kid. Life keeps punching the shit out of him.

"He, he bought me clothes and stuff, let me stay in one of the rooms of his giant house 'till we found out. When the test came back showing he really was my dad, he set me up with a cell phone and started talking about schools, I thought things were going to be okay.

"But me and Monica—things were tense. She never wanted kids. She immediately resented me. She was the lucky one who had to look after me too. I tried to please her. I really did. I tried to cook for them one day and she screamed at me, told me not to touch her stuff. Nothing I did mattered, she just didn't want me there. One day, she got her wish."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I say. I already fucking hate Monica.

"She kept, blaming me for stuff and…"

"Safe place, Nicholas," Cas reminds him.

"…and it wasn't all made up. I had a few outburst, but she was freaking impossible. It was easy for her to convince him to, send me away."

He just sent the kid away? Like trash?

"I think he felt guilty. He let me take the clothes and he still hasn't cancelled the cell phone."

"Damn right he should feel guilty."

" _Dean,_ " Cas warns. "Where are these clothes now?"

"I stuffed as many of them as I could into a back pack, which is currently in the bush by the porch. I was planning on sleeping there tonight."

"How many nights have you been sleeping out there?"

"Just the one. I've been sleeping in the park and freshening up at gas stations. My dad was letting me come by once in awhile to shower and feed me sometimes, but that's over now."

The whole thing is so fucking sad. "What about your girlfriend?"

"I don't actually have a girlfriend. I made that up."

"How'd you get that mark on your face, Nicholas?"

"Can we stop talking about this now?"

"I need to know," Cas says in his 'you will tell me' voice. There is no or else there just is.

"I needed a shower, I felt so dirty. I hate feeling dirty. I went there to see if…well she was there and she wanted me gone. She slapped me across the face. It was nothing, looks worse than it is."

 _He has a thing about dirty and neat, too._ "Why didn't you just shower here, genius?"

"Then you'd know, dumb ass," he smirks.

"Hey!"

"Enough you two. Nicholas," Cas says standing. "Go retrieve your bag from the bush please. You're staying here 'till we sort this out."

"I'm not going back there. You can't make me. You said you're not kicking me out!"

Cas pulls him to his chest, holding him in a vice grip, kinda how I was earlier. "I didn't say that. I know you haven't been able to depend on anyone. Ever. But you can depend on me."

"And me," I add.

"And me!" Michael says.

The three of us can't help but laugh at that. "Go get your bag," Cas says again. Nick obeys this time.

"What are you planning, Cas?" I say quietly when he'd well out of earshot.

"We have to contact his father, Winchester."

"I'm not sending him back there with _Monica._ "

"Between the two of you I don't know who's worse." He shakes his head. "No one is sending anyone back, but we have to talk to his father. We might need Sam's help with this and maybe…Jo."

Wow. He still really hates Jo. Also, it's a good thing I've already got Sam on the case. Of course Cas doesn’t know that. "Are we going to adopt him?"

"I will, for now."

Right. We've only been dating for weeks even though it feels like months. Something's scratching at my brain, something I'm supposed to do—oh right, break up with him. I've never really broken up with anyone before. Kicked people out of my bed, sure, but broken up? I have no idea how to do this, surely this is a bad time?

"I won't send him back. Even if it sounds like his father's been kind to Nicholas, throwing him out after a few short weeks over very little—I don't think he's wanted Dean."

The truth of that hits me and for a second, I get to feel one iota of what Nick must feel when the thinks about it. "Why don't I get to adopt him?"

"Perhaps someday, but for now, I will. I'm pre-emptively shutting down money temper tantrums before they start."

"It wasn't a tantrum, Cas."

Nick walks back in and throws his bag on the chair he was sitting in. "I'm, I, can we forget about this morning?" He looks so pitiful. He swipes at this right eye.

"No. We cannot," Cas says. I want to jump in and tell Cas to leave the poor kid alone, he's been through enough, but I know enough of Cas to know he's up to something. "You are forgiven and you will clean up the mess you made. C'mon. Let's start there—you'll feel better."

"Okay," Nick says.

"Remove your jacket. I will get you rubber gloves and teach you how to clean up ceramic without cutting yourself."

While they do that, I get breakfast started with Michael still on my hip, something I'm getting pretty used to. He's feeling clingy this morning, like he can sense something's off. I kiss his head as I one-handed crack eggs and scramble them right in the pan as I listen to Cas instructing Nick. He cares. He cares to damn much.

I watch him fondly. His hair's still messy from waking up (who am I kidding, it's always a bit Harry Potter). I like it that way. It's endearing, so fucking endearing. Now I'm swiping at my eye.

_I'm not gonna get to see that mop of hair everyday, you know, 'cause of the big break up._

I take extra care with breakfast and make it look nice. "You don't wanna help me, bud?"

"No Daddy. You do it."

"How about Ironman?"

"No."

"That lazy bucket of bolts."

Cas has Nick calmed down by the time we're sitting down to eat breakfast and Michael's willing to sit in his chair by this point. Nick looks a lot smaller when he's not wearing that large, leather jacket. The t-shirt he's wearing still drowns him and he's folded over on himself, not sitting to his full height. I bet his mind is racing with all kinds of stuff, probably even beating himself up for telling us so much. Cas is watching him carefully. Sure he's making it look like he's not watching him, but I know Cas better than that; he's in eagle-eye, super stealth mode and he's got his "Doctor of Psychology" hat on.

Meanwhile, Nick is like a wild animal. He just made himself openly vulnerable. He's charting out the best possible exits, heart probably pounding in his chest and fidgeting like he's got ants. Cas puts a gentle, but firm hand to Nick's wrist to still him. "Eat please, Nicky. Else it's going to get cold."

He's grateful for the direction and neither myself, nor Nick has missed that Cas called him "Nicky". He digs in, slowly. Once we're done breakfast, we all help clean up then we're back at the table—the four of us—again.

"I will need to talk with your father, Nicholas," Cas begins.

"He's not my father."

"Whether he's been a father to you, or not, he is your biological father and we have to sort this out with him."

"I'm not going back there."

"He's right, Cas. He can't go back there. You're not going back there Nick."

"Would you two stop it? I make the decisions around here."

"Not for long," I say under my breath.

"What was that Winchester?"

 _Stupid Cas with is stupid super hearing._ I get an imaginary electric shock through me. "Uh, nothing Cas."

He crosses his arms, so one can reach his face and he can hold his cheek in his hand as he thinks; making decisions. "Moving along, we will all go. You three will wait out in the car and I will talk with Nick's biological father. I promise it will get sorted. Meanwhile, Winchester, call your brother. We may need immediate action on this."

Cas doesn't know just how immediate that actions going to be. "Aye, Captain."

"Why do I have to come? Can't I stay here, sir?"

"I considered that, but I think it will look a lot less…"

"Kidnappy?" Nick says.

"Yes. He will know we're not keeping you locked in the basement."

"He wouldn't care even if I was."

"Be that as it may, he should see you with us. Having Michael with us will help too. Will he be home?"

"Should be."

"What are we waiting for then? Let's go."

**

I feel like we're on a stakeout. It's Michael, Nick and I in the Impala waiting for Cas who was admitted into the house and we're watching for any signs of anything. It's just us cool cats in the Impala. I should be tired, but my adrenaline is racing.

"I want out of this seat, Daddy."

This stakeout just lost all its cool points. "Nick, could you? Please?"

"How we going to get him back in?" He reaches for the button that will release the buckles.

"We'll worry about that when the time comes." I brought Cheezies. "Any idea why he hates car seats?"

Nick shrugs. "Because he's three?"

He's no help. "Watch him, will you? I'm going to step out to call my brother."

I leave Nick in the car with Michael and pull out my phone to call Sam. "Dean? Everything okay?"

"Yeah. Well no actually. Remember how I said that info I needed on Nick's dad wasn't urgent? Things have changed." I launch into the story of this morning. Of course the entire time, I think about how I could ask Sam what I was supposed to ask him. All common sense points to, _that's the right thing to do Winchester, even though I'm still royally in trouble,_ though there is still the whole break up thing on the list. No. Either way I'm in trouble. The right thing to do is accept my punishment for this before we break up, seeing as this happened while we were, _are_ together. Yeah, I'm hooped. It leaves a different feeling in my gut though. Fuck. I'm going to miss this part of our relationship, aren't I?

This is the classic, _I didn't know what I was missing 'till…_ And I didn't. And now that I'm gonna be without it, without Cas, the pit is empty. That unreachable, reachable feeling thinking about getting punished is empty.

"I can do this Dean. Truth be told, I've already started on this. I'm so freaking excited that Nick's gonna join the family—I was hoping."

"All right, enough with the sappy drivel."

"But what you're asking is quite a bit more than just finding out info on Nick's dad. I need Ellen and Jo, are you okay with that?"

"Yeah. Do whatever you have to."

"The work I've already done definitely speeds the process up. Update me when Cas is finished with Nick's dad."

I understand how Nick feels. I'm starting to not like people referring to him as that either. I look in on the pair in the backseat of the Impala. It's a nice scene, well, other than Nick's dour face. But I can really see the two of them being permanent fixtures in there. Michael already is, but I'm talking them as a set. It's meant to be.

Cas comes out of the house finally with a tall man. He's a good-looking guy, about my age. And it's true, I can see the resemblances between him and Nick. He doesn't look like a bad guy, but it's too late for him and me to be besties. I hate him on behalf of Nick who in my head is already my other kid.

Nick doesn't get out of the car, he doesn't look at his bio-dad slash sperm donor.

Cas can read me pretty good. He knows I'm out for blood. I get a warning look that means, behave Winchester. I enjoy the thrill, but without that net of 'us,' ('cause I really should break up with him after we sort all this out—my acts are unforgivable, I'll be doing Cas a favor) I'm still falling.

I still decide behaving is in my best interest. I do glower at the dude.

"Dean, this is Nicholas's father, Edward."

"Hi." I extend my had for a shake and squeeze his hand hard when we make contact.

"Yeah, hi Dean. Sorry about all this," he says like Nick did something and he's apologizing on his behalf.

"Nick's got nothing to be sorry for."

" _Winchester._ "

I shut up.

"I-I didn't mean Nick, I meant me. I feel like shit, but it just ain't gonna work out. I've got my life, then this kid comes around…what am I supposed to do? Drop my whole life?"

"Yeah. You are." That's what I did. Don't regret it.

"Well it's not that easy for me. I have a wife—she doesn't like the kid. I did try, but…well if it's down to her or him, she's been in my life longer."

I can't hear anymore of this. "Cas."

"Opinions on what to do with 'illegitimate' children aside, Mr. Giancola has agreed to help us take custody of Nicholas."

"Yeah. I'll do whatever you need. And if you need money, I've got lots. I'm happy to set up an account for him. It's not a money thing."

It's really hard not to punch him in the face. "You don't even know us. We could be child molesters. Aren't you even worried?"

He runs a hand through his hair and looks around embarrassed. "Yeah I guess you could be, but somehow, I don't think child molesters stop by to ask for custody and I'm a good judge of character—you don't seem like it. I was actually relieved after talking to Dr. Novak here."

"Why? 'Cause we're taking your problem off your hands?"

He sighs. "I know. I'm the world's shittest person for doin' this, but this way sounds better for the kid."

"We can agree on some of that, but don't let that allow you to sleep better—you were supposed to love the kid."

"Dean," Cas says again.

"No, it's okay Doc Novak. Dean's right, but I just don't—I don't have that fatherly part in me. He seems like a great kid. An awesome kid, but I can't be his dad."

He does look genuinely sorry, but my heart still wrenches for Nick and God help me, I feel an interesting mix of protective Mama and Papa bear. Cas was right, he isn't wanted. We want him, but I know if my own dad didn't want me that would seriously fuck with my head. At least we know a good psychologist.

"Dean, he's going to work with us and that's the point," Cas says, his eyebrows swooping, two pronounced V's over each blue eye. Yeah I get it. We don't need to lecture Eddie. He's gonna do what we want. Shut the hell up.

"Here. This is the rest of his clothes and all the money I had on me, there should be five grand there. I can get more—however much you need."

I look to Cas. Do we really want his money? Cas nods and I assume he'll explain later. "Would you like to say anything to Nicholas at this point, Mr. Giancola?"

"I can't imagine he wants to see me."

"Part of him does. I think you should say something kind to him," Cas says. Holy shit. He's not suggesting. Somehow, even this dude is under Cas's command.

"Yeah, uh, here." He shoves the bag of stuff and money at me and heads over to the Impala.

"Nicholas, come out please," Cas says.

Nick's got his arms crossed and isn't moving. Cas makes motion to Eddie saying he can open the Impala door to which I glare at Cas for. I don't want his mitts all over the Impala, but I let it go. For Nick.

He opens the door and crouches down. Nick still won't look at him. "Look Nick. I know you hate me and I would too. All I can say is, you'll understand one day."

"I don't need your assurance Ed. Just go. I told you I don't need you or anyone else."

"I-I'm sorry. You're a good kid."

Michael's got his Winchester eyes on. He's sizing Eddie up and allowing him to talk to his brother, but I think he's gonna sick Ironman on him if he makes one wrong move. Nick looks the other way. Edward gives up. He shuts the Impala door. "Whatever you guys need. You're good people, better than me. Even a normal kid, I'd likely fuck up, I don't know what I'd do with an already fucked up one."

"Okay that's it." I wind up and punch Edward in the face. My fist connecting with his jaw makes the sweetest sound; I get immense satisfaction.

Cas grabs me to prevent me going for him again. "Stop it. We need his help if we're going get custody of Nick. My apologies, Mr. Giancola."

I try to cool myself down as Edward adjusts his jaw. "S'okay, I deserved that one, but I'm not taking another. You guys should go before Mon comes back. You've got my card Doctor Novak."

**

For the second time today, we end up at the kitchen table, almost like we're having a meeting or something. It's time for Michael to have a nap, so he's climbed onto Nick's lap (probably sensitive to his brother's melancholy) and is barely able to keep his eyes open. Cas is standing, each palm gripping an edge of the table; he's pissed. Thankfully not at any of us (for the moment). He'll never admit it, but he's secretly glad I punched Edward. "This is what's going to happen," he says. "The beds will be set up tonight, Nicholas will need a bed immediately. You're very much wanted here Nicholas, is that clear?"

He nods, which is all he can afford at the moment. He's probably reeling. "W-what if, Sam can't—"

"—there is no 'Sam can't.' He's the Batman of lawyers. He'll do it," I say with so much confidence, I think the kid actually believes me.

"Nicholas, take Michael up to our bed. He needs sleep and I'd like it if you laid down for a bit too. It couldn't have been very restful sleeping under the porch."

"But—" Nick's eyes look afraid.

"Yes we are going to talk, no we're not going to talk about relocating you—you're staying here, got it?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Go."

Ironman, Michael and Nick all head upstairs. Cas and I are alone. He waits 'till he hears our bedroom door shut. "This is awful, Dean."

"Yeah. What a total dickbag."

"Agreed. But at the same time, I'd rather he admit to it than have Nicholas there. We are the better choice for him. He should be with Michael anyway. We also have to remember it could have been worse, he could have been physically abusive, or be difficult with giving him to us."

Cas is convincing himself as much as he's convincing me.

"Time is of the essence. We've got to move on this quickly, while everyone's agreeable."

"Not to worry, why I bet Sam's already got this half figured out."

He looks at me suspiciously.

"Not only is he the Batman of lawyers, he's the Flash of Lawyers too."

Thankfully he's too distracted with the Nick-thing to give that too much thought. "I hate to have to do this, but we should talk about us, Dean."

That guts me. All this time I worried about how I was gonna break up with him and now he's… well it sounds like he's breaking up with me.

"I think this is going to move things along with us, Winchester," he says.

Yeah. It has. I wasn't planning to do the deed 'till at least tonight while the kids were in bed.

"I know we're new, though it doesn't really feel new does it?" His blue eyes smile and so do his lips in his nerdy Cas-way, showing all his teeth. Why is he happy about this? "Point is Winchester, I think Nick should live here with Michael, but if I adopt him that means I'm going to have to live here too. I don't mean to rush you into anything."

The tears that were welling in my bottom eyelids spill over about the same time my heart does with the joy of that. Just like everything else within these crazy few weeks, I'm given yet another thing I didn't know I wanted 'till I received it. Yes. I want Cas to live here very much. I know I was all weird about it before, but thinking all day about losing Cas and breaking up with him, this makes it feel like I got him back, even though I didn't technically lose him. "Are those good tears or bad tears, Winchester?"

"Good tears. Good. Fuck yeah, Cas!" I slam into him and hold him into a death grip, like he might fly away at any second. I hold him like that crying into his shoulder.

He has to pry me off of him. "I have to be honest, that's not the reaction I was expecting. I thought you'd be weird about it. I'll keep my apartment of course and if you should decide you want me gone for a night—"

"Sell it. Get rid of it. I want you here Cas. Permanently." There. New plan. I'll trap him here, _then_ I'll tell him what I did and he'll _have_ to forgive me. I grab him again and kiss him hard. "Love you, Cas."

He pulls away. "Love you too, Baby." He looks dreamily into my eyes and that's when it hits me—like a sledgehammer to the fucking gut—I have to come clean, don't I? How do I do that though and ruin his perfect smile? I should let him be happy a few minutes longer. Us moving in together is a big deal. I mean, given, he hasn't really gone home despite our original plan that he would. But it's official now.

Even if I wanted to tell him right this second, grouchy-Michael coming down the stairs followed by also-grouchy-Nick says our priorities need to be elsewhere for now. "Daddy I'm not sleepy," he says rubbing his eyes in a very sleepy way as he takes the steps one at a time.

"He refuses to sleep. Surprise, surprise," Nick says.

"Look at us Winchester—time for us to go be parents," he says proudly in my ear like he's…Holy fuck, he's turned on thinking about the two of us being parents together. "Why are you still wearing that jacket, Nicholas? Take it off, hang it in the front closet."

"You're so bossy," Nick says, but heads to the closet.

"I agree, with Cas. Sit and stay awhile. And you think that's bossy? You've seen nothing, Nickster."

"Veetoed. You're not calling me Nickster."

"I'll call you what I want, it's my house."

Michael reaches my leg. He's whiney. "We can hang, Daddy?"

I grab him from under his armpits and tuck him into my body. "Yep. Up in the bed. You're having a nap, kid. Daddy will take you."

He starts crying, but it's to be expected. He's three. I'm learning that. There's not always a reason. As I head up the stairs I can hear, "you too, Nicholas."

"I don't even have a bed, this is stupid."

"You'll have a bed soon enough. March."

Fact: These are the sounds of my new life and I can't be sorry about it.


	30. The Winchesters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Special thanks** to BellaRisa and Bears506! Thank you both for your valued input on Dean's Red Ass! for this chapter. 
> 
>  
> 
> Okay, hope this is enjoyed.

Lunch. Yeah, we've only reached fucking lunch hour. It feels like this has been going on a week. The kids are still asleep and I've snuck out of the bedroom. After Cas ushered Nick in the room with strict instructions to go to sleep, he headed downstairs.

When I get there, he's dragging the boxes that contain the bed pieces, into the house. "Here, let me help you with that, Cas."

For some reason, it's quieter than it should be as we're carrying stuff in. Is he onto me? Do I tell him what I did now? Does he already know? Fuck yeah, it's quiet. It's me all alone with the sound of my guilt and Cas right there probably hearing everything. "You sure you're fine with all of this, Winchester?" Cas says and I fucking jump.

"Yeah, Cas. I'm more than okay with it."

"You don’t seem it."

Look at him, caring about me—I didn't care about him when I lied and fuck, I fucking let him reward me. I deserve the rack. Tar and feathers. The whole bit. "No I am, I'm just thinking about Nick. How we gonna, you know, deal with the his dad not wanting him part?"

"And the death of his mother? And having to carve out a living for him and his little brother as a child himself?"

"Yeah all that."

"Same way as Michael. Jelena will see Nick as well."

Right. Duh. And I guess Cas is paying for that—he thinks Sam is paying for mine, that guts me. While the boys rest, we begin assembling beds. Sometime in the middle of that Sam calls. Fuck. In all the commotion, forgot to call him back. "Dean, we need to talk."

"I gathered that, Sammy."

"No, like—there's no easy way to say this—how serious are you and Cas?"

"Pretty fucking serious. We just decided to move in together."

"Okay, that's good, that's really good. How do you two feel about, marriage?"

I stare at the wall. And the funny thing is I think, I _think_ I'm all right with that. More than and that's what gives me the weird feeling. I can't deny that a lot is happening way too fast and I also feel like I'm on a merry-go-round out of fucking control. I need a fucking minute. "Uh, yeah, can I get back to you on that one, Sammy?" As I say this, I'm looking at Cas, his mop of dark hair buried over instructions (who reads the instructions?) and feeling a rush of emotions for him. I have to wipe away a tear.

"Yeah that's what I thought you'd say, Dean, but look, we have a far better chance at this if you're married. I know that's stupid, Cas is more than qualified on his own, but it's just the way it works, the courts prefer children to go to couples over single men and women; it's stupid. We're already having to do a lot of…maneuvering. It's not a deal breaker, but Ellen thinks it would really help us Dean."

"No, I mean yeah Sammy, I'll do it." I know that's not very confidence inspiring, but it's all I've got for him right now. _Is Cas going to want to marry someone like me once he finds out what I did?_ Spank, yes, marry? I don't know.

Then it hits me. I have to ask him. Either way I have to ask him and I don't have a fucking ring. Well there's Dad's ring, but Cas deserves better than that old hunk of junk. This is stupid. I'm not prepared for this. The moving in is great, I do want to marry Cas, but it sucks it has to be now and rushed. That's my beef with this—so it's clear.

Cas is on a mission with the beds. "How you making out with that?"

"It seems to me they have made these instructions impossible to follow. Did Sam have anything good to say?"

One thing I know is Cas will do anything to make this work. I grab the instructions out of his hand and toss them. "We don't need these, Cas. Stand aside, Winchesters can do this kind of shit."

"My hero," he says.

"Damn right and Sam had good news—he can do it. Told you."

He smiles.

After a few minutes trying to build beds with Cas, his Forte is clear. "Cas, honey, Angel kisses?"

"Yeah, Dean?"

"Get me a beer?"

"Okay, I know where I'm not wanted." He doesn't look sorry or hurt though. I think he's relived. It feels good to be able to do something he can't though—gotta admit. He knows everything else, but I build shit and fix things.

I'm mostly along with the bottom bunk when I hear the bedroom door open, the boys can hear me working away and they come to check me out. Michael's cute, sucking his soother and hugging his Ironman. Nick looks a little better having rested. "I changed his diaper," Nick says.

"Thanks Nick. You didn't have to do that, you could have got me."

He shrugs.

"What you doin', Daddy?"

"Building beds. You wanna help?"

Michael nods.

"You too Nick, grab that bag of bolts over there."

Cas is a long time getting my beer, but when he finally does saunter in, I've got both boys working on a task as I plan out the next piece. "I put the new sheets in the dryer and started lunch," he says handing me a beer.

"Look Cas! I'm helping," Michael says.

Michael calling Cas, Cas makes me think of other things (I'll think of anything right now other than what I've got to admit to—the pit in my stomach is a mile wide at least, but if I ignore it, it…well it's still there, but ignoring is ignoring) like if we're getting married, will Cas adopt Michael? Should we wait on that? (He still might kick me to the curb) Should Michael start calling him Papa?

"Good job, my lad."

Nick is quiet. He's been quiet. Cas tilts his head at him. "How do you feel after having rested, Nicholas?"

"Fine, sir." He's throwing total shade. What? I know what that means.

"Come with me, please. You can help me with lunch."

"What if I want to stay here?"

Oh boy. Here we go.

"That is not an option right now." Cas doesn't stick around to argue. He turns to leave expecting Nick to follow.

Nick looks to me for help I can't give. I put my hands up in surrender. "Sorry, bud. Cas has spoken."

Michael's watching with keen interest, sucking his soother.

"I-if I don't go with him, am I kicked out?"

I roll my eyes hoping that will make light of his consistent fear, in a way that will dissipate it. Eventually. "No, but fair warning, if you want to test Cas it's your own funeral." I've already got my own to attend.

He makes a fed-up grunt and storms off. I check on Michael. "C'mon, we gonna build this, or what?"

"Yeah. We builds it Daddy. Daddy?"

"Yeah big guy?"

"Nicky's mad."

I laugh. "Kinda. He's frustrated."

"Oh," he says even though I'm sure he has no idea what 'frustrated' means.

My phone vibrates in my pocket. It's Sammy. "Dean, we're kinda on borrowed time here. I need your answer."

"Jesus, Sam. It's like you want us to get married tomorrow or something."

"Uh, that's the thing big brother—we do."

**

I don't turn when he saunters into the room, but continue buttering bread for the sandwiches I'm making. _We really need to start eating something other than sandwiches for lunch, no matter how much Dean likes them._ The thought excites me. I'm looking forward to Dean and I raising a family together. I know everything is happening soon and sudden, but I _know_ we're meant to be. I know it won't be easy, but I look forward to the challenge too. Starting now.

"Sit." I still don't look at him and point to the kitchen table.

"I thought you wanted me to help you?"

"And you will, but first, sit."

He starts to sit in Dean's chair. "Uh-uh. That one," I say and point to the chair that will be his. I want him to know from the start that he has a place here that goes beyond Michael. Some physical proof will be helpful.

"Ugh." He moves to the chair I designated for him and slinks into it.

"Sit up straight, please."

I can see his eyes bug out, from the corner of mine. "What is this? Time out?"

"Call it that if you like. I prefer to think of it as a grounding exercise." Though the two ideas are fairly similar in nature. Time outs can be grounding. I can tell Nicholas is a smart boy, he'll figure me out pretty quick.

"I'd feel more grounded if I was relaxed."

Or not. I don't answer. He adjusts the way he was sitting. "Good boy," I tell him. "Thank you."

I get all the slices of bread buttered while he sits and thinks about what I might be up to. I'm sure his thoughts immediately jump to getting sent away—they will for some time—but less acutely, his thoughts will drift to his behavior upstairs and finally, "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"Being a dick."

"Pardon me?"

"Jerk?"

He really doesn't know. "You were being insolent. You wanted my attention, now you have it, but instead of fun attention, you have unpleasant attention." I may seem harsh, but I know what I'm doing. Nicholas needs firm structure more than Michael and more than Dean. I bet he's dying to know what the rules are. Yes to follow them, but also to break them. After all, how else is one to know how much they're cared for, unless they test the boundaries set for them, to see if they're still tolerated then?

"H-how can I make it up to you?"

"You can sit there for five more minutes, quietly and properly."

He pretends he's zipping his lips, locking and throwing away the key. I have to shield my face, so he doesn't see the half-smile breaking my lips. He watches me the entire time, glancing at the clock on the stove. "Have you thought about better ways to be heard?"

"I don't know how."

"But you're smart and you'll learn." I crook my finger at him. He slides out from the table and joins me at the counter. "You can put the ham on each of these then start slicing the tomatoes." Without thinking about it, I give the back of his neck a gentle squeeze.

"Are you ready to share why you're upset?"

"Not really," he sighs. "But I probably owe you."

"You owe me nothing. You do owe it to yourself to feel better. Telling a trusted ally is a great way to begin feeling better."

"How do you know I trust you?"

"Dean calls it, spidey senses."

"Dean is a giant child."

I reach out and swat his ass. It's light, but firm and surprising. "Do you need to sit down again?"

"No, sir. I'll… behave."

"Thank you. Now c'mon. Give it a try."

He's quiet as he thinks. "I'm confused."

"This whole ordeal must be confusing for you."

He nods. "I don't get why…I, Mister Novak? I don't get why," he takes a shaky breath, "why he doesn't want me. I don't get why you guys do. I mean, I figured it was because of Michael, that makes sense. But why ask me things like how am I and did I get enough rest? Why should you care?"

"I can't fathom it, Nicholas. That's my honest opinion about your father. I can only say that some of us aren't meant to be parents and that it's better some of us aren't." He's looking at me now, like I'm salvation. I chose my next words carefully. "You were let in the front door because of Michael, but it's not the reason we want you to stay."

"But he…but no one—"

The tears fall and he crushes the ham he's holding in his hand. I pull him to me. "Cry, Nicky. It's okay to cry."

"It's so stupid. Why do I care? I shouldn't care. I shouldn't give a flying fuck."

"Language." I squeeze him. "It hurts to be rejected. You've lost another parent. It's okay to mourn that loss."

"Is there something wrong with me?" he cries.

"Nothing at all. You were meant for us. This is the story of how you came to be with us." I hold him and sway him and let him cry, running fingers through his hair, 'till his sobs become sniffles. I continue to murmur soft assurances to him.

He pulls away and wipes his face with his forearm, I move to get him a cloth. "Can you not tell Dean I was crying like a baby?"

I rinse out a cloth under warm water. "Why don't you want Dean knowing?" I hand him the cloth.

"He'll make fun of me."

"He will not. If he does, I'll spank him." That gets me a laugh. He uses the cloth to wipe his face.

When he's back to sandwich making he looks lighter. "So you are guys really going to let me stay here?"

"More than that," I say chopping pickles. "Son. You will be our son, Nicholas."

"Really?"

"What do you think guardianship means?"

"I thought it was just formality, so I could stay."

"No silly, boy. It's not just formality."

We finish making the sandwiches and call Dean and Michael down to eat. Right away, I know something's off. Winchester looks squirrely. "What's going on?"

"Nothing."

"Nicholas, would you mind watching Michael momentarily?"

He nods, but looks scared. "He can't do it, can he? Sam can't."

"Don't get your panties in a twist. He can. Nothing's wrong," Dean says.

"Michael, stay with your brother please, Winchester, you're coming with me." I drag Dean by the arm back upstairs and to the bedroom. "Talk. Now. I know you know something." I'm about five seconds away from spanking it out of him. He's been a bit off in general, but I've been distracted dealing with Nick.

"Fine. You ruin everything Cas. I wanted to surprise you, but then it got rushed along and—"

I move to grab him.

"Wait! No! Married. We have to get married Cas. I was gonna plan something, but then Sam was all you have to do it tomorrow and—well I wanted to ask you properly, but that ship has sailed."

I'm confused. "Married?"

"Yeah. Something about it being easier to adopt as a married couple versus not."

"So you were just going to ask me to marry you?"

"Yeah. I thought you'd be a lot happier about this."

I am and no doubt that's where I had designs on us heading, but I don't know that Dean's ready for what I want in a marriage. Moving in together, we could figure that out as we go, but marriage? There's so much to plan—especially when it comes to finances. He looks devastated though and that's not how I want him to feel over this.

"I am, you have no idea. But you haven't even read the book yet and I need, Winchester, there are things—"

He yanks me to him. "Screw the book Cas. I want this. I want you. I'll give you whatever you want. I just want you."

"You threw a fit because I told you to ask your brother for money, how will you react to me having complete authority in that arena, hmm?"

It's subtle, just the flick of his eyes up then down. " _Winchester._ "

"I, fuck, I didn't ask him for the money okay? I lied to you, Hell I lied to him."

I'm half surprised and half not surprised. "You did more than that. You even took the reward I offered with no shame." My voice raises the slightest, but it's not yelling. "Were you that afraid I'd spank you?"

"If I say yes, does that mean you're not gonna spank me?"

"There is zero chance of that Winchester."

Finally, some shame. "I'm sorry Cas. I was gonna do it, I really was, that part wasn't a lie. I chickened out at the last second. What would my dad say, Cas? That's all I kept thinking about."

"You should have been thinking about how long I was going to spank you."

"I did. Still am I…know what's crazy? That's the only thing in this whole mess that makes it worth it."

"Me tanning your hide?"

He nods and tries to nuzzle into my neck. I hold myself still as stone. "Yeah. I was gonna break it off at first."

"This does not help your cause."

"If I'm comin' clean, I'm comin' all the way clean. I was gonna break it off because I thought you deserved better."

"I think someone wanted out of his sorely deserved punishment."

"Nope. I was even gonna let you do that, before the big break up."

"How kind of you."

"Then you asked me to move in with you and I realized I was being stupid—we can work this out. I hope?" He fiddles with my collar bone. I sear him with my eyes not giving any clemency. "Cas?"

"Of course we will work things out. The thought of us breaking up is ridiculous. You clearly need someone to keep you in line, Winchester."

"Then why are you pretending you're a rock?"

"Because I'm displeased with you. I can be displeased. _Seriously_ displeased."

He stops trying to cuddle me and looks down to the bed. "I don't like this Cas."

"I don't like deceit. We talked about this. At nauseam, you said. Was that all lies too?"

"Does it matter? You said I had to do it. What's the point in talking about it over and over?"

"The point is this." I stand him up and pull down both his joggers and boxers in one motion then tug him over my knees. Without warning, or preparation, I begin spanking him. They're hard slaps meant to sting. I alternate in a rhythm he can sink into, like a metronome, the skin vibrates under my hand and grows hot. He squirms some, but it's mostly tensing and squeezing of his ass cheeks. "I got you, Winchester. Let go. Let go."

"But I'm supposed to look after him, Cas. I c-can't. Can't do it. I want to d-do it for you, but I can't."

"You can." I'm still spanking him; still alternating cheeks; still inflicting a level of pain that's making it increasingly uncomfortable for him. "That was before when you had to make all the decisions, now I do. You can do this, because I say you can. Let go. Just let go."

I continue to warm his ass 'till he's crying as hard as Dean cries. It's not a loud cry, but I can hear him, feel him shaking. I can tell the thing inside of him, holding him back has given way and he's feeling release. I stop spanking him and rub his burning bottom, making my way up to his back. I let him sink down to the floor and bury his face in my lap and enjoy fingers through his short hair as he processes.

**

Well, that spanking wasn't so bad. I thought Cas was going to murder me. I mean that spanking was intense, but it didn't really feel like punishment. I peek my head up. "Cas?"

"Yes, Winchester?"

"Thank you. That was, intense. A good intense. I feel, lighter." Why didn't I just ask for that in the first place? Thankfully this is the last time. I'm turning over a new leaf. No more spankings for this Winchester.

"Good."

He's right. I was holding onto the past. Not that I'll ever stop taking care of Sammy and I doubt I'm completely 'cured' of need to please Dad, but I need the money and I need to ask him for it. I'm just delaying the inevitable and throwing a freaking tantrum—all points which Cas and I have been over. All points Cas was right about, as usual. He was trying to save me all this drama by getting me to just do it in the first place, but I went through the drama anyway.

"My only regret was not doing that in the first place. I made the mistake of believing you; that won't be happening again, not with this."

He pulls me up by the arm and helps me adjust my clothes. "Yeah, guess I did need a, what do you call that? A thinking spanking?"

"More or less."

"Yeah," I smile at him. He's not smiling at me though. Weird. I do get pulled in for a rough kiss.

"I'm glad that helped, Baby."

"It did. I feel better about the whole thing. I'll tell Sam when I call to tell him back about our marital status, tomorrow."

"Oh no, Winchester. I don’t think so. The ship of you telling him on your own has sailed. I will be assisting you with that."

"Um, how will you be doing that?"

"You will see tonight, once the kids are in bed."

"Wait, why do we need to wait 'till the kids are in bed?" Suddenly that pit in my stomach is back with a vengeance. My whole body's prickling.

"Not only are you going to be asking him under my supervision, we're going to tell him what you did. You lied to him too."

Yeah. I did. He's not going to be too happy either.

"You have several things to atone for in fact."

"Atone for? But wasn't that—"

" _That_ was nothing. You disobeyed me, lied a few times and to your brother and let's not forget about the reward you took that you didn't deserve."

Whoa. Cas is pissed. Okay this is more along the lines of what I expected. Worse than I expected. I can't even look in his deep blues. I swallow. "Cas, you still love me though, right?"

"I love you Winchester, which is why I'm going to punish you, thoroughly."

Okay I had it coming and truth be told, I think I was just _hoping_ that spanking was it, however shallow a hope it was. I hate this new feeling, this other one of Cas being so fucking cold with me. "Yes, sir."

He takes my chin in his forefinger and thumb and kisses my wet face. "You still wanna marry me, Winchester? Even though I'm going to kill you later?"

"I want it Cas. There's nothing I want more."

Shortly After Sunday Dinner

"I would like to call to order the first official Winchester-Novak-Giancola family meeting," Cas says. We're gathered round the kitchen table yet again. I feel like we've lived here today. "These meetings will be used for other purposes in future, but today we are going to discuss becoming a family—it's important everyone takes part."

"Family meetings? Really? What is this, Full House?" Nick says.

Nick gets a glare from Cas for his troubles. He shuts his piehole. "I need someone to take minutes," Cas says.

"Me, Cas! Me!" Michael (the teacher's pet) says. He's sitting on my lap. I don't think he even knows what minutes are. I'm not sure I do.

Cas slides the notepad (the same one that has the rule about Nick never being kicked out in it) over to Michael. He hands me the pen, which Michael takes and starts drawing pictures.

I'm still getting used to looking at Nick without the giant leather jacket on him, covering him, shielding him from us. It's like he's open and vulnerable. I can see how thin and frail he actually is. He's still going for tough guy exterior to make up for the lack of jacket.

"These meetings will take place every Sunday. No one is exempt, unless I say so. They are key to me effectively running this home; I need to hear everyone's needs."

Nick's interested. "Um." He puts up his hand.

"Yes, Nicholas?"

"So we can say stuff we want?"

"That's the idea, but you must back it up with reason. Then it is discussed. Each member of the family must state why they agree, or disagree. I make the final decision, based on everyone's contribution and my own. Does that make sense?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. First on the agenda is, becoming a family. I want to confirm for everyone that I very much want the four of us to be a family. How do you guys feel about that?"

"I feel damn good about that," I say.

"Nicholas?"

"I-I'd…yeah, I want that."

"How about you Michael?" I say. "You want Nicky and Cas to stay here with us?"

"Yeah, Daddy."

"Michael's in guys."

"How are we going to do that? Become a family?" Cas says.

"Aren't we doing that by living together?" Nick asks.

"That is one of our steps. Write that down please Michael," Cas says.

I help Michael write amongst his pictures and I can see what Cas is doing. This is to give us all equal footing, for Nick who he's watching carefully. Nick pretends not to like it, but he's the most interested in this meeting. He's thriving on the inclusion.

"Sam said it would be easier to adopt you, if Cas and I got married," I say.

"What do you think of that Nicholas?"

"You're asking me if I mind you two getting married? I barely know you guys."

"Maybe you 'barely' know us, but you're about to become part of this family. Your opinion is important."

Nick shrugs. "It doesn't bother me. I'm no fan of the Notebook though, so if you don't get married, I'm not gonna cry about it. But if it helps the, uh, you know then I hope so?"

Even I can tell his response is all over the place. Cas's eyes—Cas's whole face, says he doesn't accept it. "Part of this exercise is honesty, Nicholas. You will not be judged, or sent away for your opinion—one I'm asking for. Would you like to change your answer?"

"Yes."

I can tell Cas's patience is low—that's my fault—but he's so fucking good with the kid anyway. I don't mean this in an asshole way, but Nick is going to take a lot of work and patience, like any kid, but more so because of what he's been through. "Yes you'd like to change your answer? Or yes you'd like it if we got married?"

"Both."

"You're supposed to provide ample reason."

I get Cas's intent, he's trying to set precedent by "doing this right," even if we're all just a little, more than a little wrung out from the day's events. Instinct takes over, I grab the kid by the scruff of his neck and hug him to my side. I don’t care how tough he is. "C'mon Nicky, we want your opinion, all of it, or we wouldn't have asked, kid."

I expect him to fight me, in the least, a snarky-ass comment, but he's too exhausted for that. And not _just_ because of today, even if that's part of it. His poor little soul is exhausted. I get it. He's tired of carrying everything and everyone on his shoulders, letting go, letting someone else take the wheel for a change is sweet relief. His whole body relaxes against mine. "I…yeah. It's a good idea because, I, it's stupid."

I jostle him gently against my side. "C'mon, Nick. It's not stupid."

It takes him another few minutes to answer. "It would be nice that's all. It would feel more official somehow. Maybe a bit regular even?"

"There are many kinds of families, Nicholas. There are some wonderful one-parent families," Cas points out. "We are far from fitting into the 'norm'," Cas says.

"Told you it was stupid."

"I didn't say it was stupid. I can understand your desire for that kind of a dynamic. I just want to assure you, you will have 'regular' whether we marry or not."

The moment is over, but he lets himself rest into my shoulder. I've got both boys on me now. Feels good. "Winchester," Cas says. It's dripping with _I'm still fucking displeased with you._

I jump to attention. "Yes, sir."

"It's your turn."

"Oh, well my answer is obviously yes—I asked you remember?"

If Cas's eyes could throw darts, they would be throwing them at me. "You don't want me to recount all of the things I remember in this moment, Winchester."

Probably not. "I love you Cas. That's my fucking reason." He checks for cheek and finds none. I mean it. I love him. Married? Sure. Bring it on. I'm ready for anything with Cas.

"Michael?" Cas says.

"Hey grease monkey, what do you think? Should Cas and Daddy get married?"

"Yeah," he says.

"Why?"

"'Cause we likes Cas." Like Father like son.

"Okay, that's three yeses Cas. Even if you don't want to marry me, too bad, you're stuck with me."

"That's not how this works. This is not a democracy. I will share with everyone my take, deliberate based on family input, then finally, decide. That's what it will always be like with me, Winchester. You still want your answer to be yes?"

"A thousand percent yes."

That throws him. I get a smile. "Okay, next on the agenda, say we did get married Winchester-Novak-Giancola is cumbersome. Who are we? The What's?"

Nick sits up from his spot on my shoulder. "Don't we get to hear your opinion, sir? About the getting married thing?"

"Very well." I can tell he's impressed with Nick's perceptiveness and willingness to participate. "I fell in love with Winchester—"

"Don't you think you should call me Dean when making a declaration, Cas?"

"I think we need a conch, so I'm not interrupted. Michael write that down, please." He pretends to be offended, but humor's my only defense against his vexed mood and I'm using it and plus it works. I do shut the hell up though. "I fell in love with _Dean_ the moment I saw him. I know that sounds _Notebook_ worthy, but—"

"It really does, Mr. Novak."

"Will you two be silent, please?"

"Be quiet!" Michael says, catching on to Cas's irritation. "Cas is talking."

"Hey, he gets to call you Cas, if you're adopting me shouldn't I get to call you something beyond Mr. Novak?"

Even though I'm trouble maker number one, Cas looks to me to silence him. I pull him to me again. "Okay, no more interruptions you two, Cas is trying to talk to Daddy. We're all ears Cas. Though I have to agree with Nick on the Notebook thing."

Nicks grouses at my use of Daddy, Cas sighs. "I've wanted to marry Dean Winchester a long time, his brat behavior and all. Michael, Nicholas—you two only make us getting married, better."

I can tell that's been severely edited, but I'm smiling like crazy anyway—Cas wants to marry me. Nick's happy even if he won't admit it. Michael's starting to get squirmy. "Daddy, I want to play."

"Soon, bud. Aren't you taking notes for Cas?"

"Okay."

"Does that mean yes? That's four votes," Nick says.

"I already told you, that's not how it works. I make the final decision."

"But we all think it's a good idea," Nick says.

"Just because we all like the idea, doesn't mean it's what's best for us. I still need to talk to Sam."

Nick looks like he's genuinely trying to learn how the process works. He nods and takes note in his mind. "Okay, item two," Cas says.

Nick puts up his hand. Cas nods for him to speak fed up with all of us—this meeting is not as orderly as Cas would like. "It seems to me we should have someone run this meeting, other than you—just if you make the decisions, you'll need to be paying more attention to what we all say, not thinking about all the meeting's items."

To all our surprise, Cas agrees. "Ideally, we would have a chair that is not me, since I am the president, so to speak. I can run this meeting, since you do not know the agenda, but how would you like to have that position, Nicholas?"

Nick looks to me. _Is he serious?_ "Go'on kid. You can do it."

Nick sits up straight. "I'd like that, sir."

"Very well. I will make sure you're equipped with an agenda in future."

"What about me?" I'm feeling a bit left out.

"You're obviously vice-president, Winchester," Cas says.

"Oh? VP, huh? Sounds pretty important."

"Naw, usually the VP is just the President's Bitch," Nick says.

"Hey!" I squeak, but that was kinda funny. Cas is not impressed.

Nick cows. "Sorry, sir."

"We've already talked about your language."

Nick looks extra disappointed in himself. He just got a kick-ass 'job' from Cas and now he feels he's ruined it by his behavior. For the third time, I pull him to me. "Stay here," I order him. It's an order worthy of Cas, if I do say so and he listens.

"We have one more thing to decide then I think that's enough for our first meeting. Who are we?"

I know what I want to say, but I don't want to offend anyone. Novak and Giancola are great (well maybe not Giancola) but, Winchester just has such a nice ring to it.

"Michael! Inchester! Whoooa Inchester!"

That inspires me. "Dammit, I vote Winchester too!"

"It's not a vote—"

"My vote is for anything without Giancola in it."

"It's not a… you three are going to be the death of me."

"Likely, Cas."

"My vote," Cas says giving into the madness, "is also for Winchester."

"I was just bein' polite—I want Winchester too. We're supposed to say why, right? It suits us I think." That's Nick.

No one else followed that rule, not even Cas, but Nick did. I mean, with me the reasoning is pretty simple. It was Dad's I want to keep it. For Michael, he's three and was just saying his name. "Cas, don't you, you know want to keep your name for the same reason you know I want to keep mine?"

"It's not that my name doesn't mean anything, but likely yours means more and I have some other family members that can pass it on anyway. Besides I've always wanted to be 'the somebodies.' That's more important to me than keeping my last name."

"So we're the Winchesters," I confirm.

"Well after I decide—"

"—but _after_ you decide, we're the Winchesters, right?" Nick says.

Cas sighs. "Yeah, we're the Winchesters."

"I think as VP I should be in control of some stuff, like the social planning and, you know, family cheers." I look to Cas. "Well should we do it?"

Cas rolls his eyes and puts his hand in. Michael knows what to do and he does too. I put my hand on top of theirs and nock my head at Nick so he follows suit, looking at me for direction. "One, two, three. Whoooa Winchester!"

**

_Call us saps, but for Nick's first night, we wanted to make it memorable. So we tucked him in._

"I'm too old to be tucked in," Nick says. Michael's already asleep. When I tried to send him to bed with Michael, he declared that not only did teens not have bedtimes the same time as three-year-olds, but that he'd never had a bedtime in his life. Cas jumped in quick on that one saying he agreed that there's no need for Nick to go to bed the same time as Michael, but that he would go to bed at a respectable hour. "You guys really don't know anything about having teenagers do you?"

We have him set up in his new bed, on the bottom bunk for now. I feel good that he's all cozy under the blue duvet. I don't have to get pissed about the thought of Michael being left on a porch all night, since now I know he wasn't, but I do think of Nicky out there, by himself, thinking he has nothing and no one. Seeing him in a white t-shirt, comfy pajama bottoms, snug as a bug under clean sheets with lots of pillows gives me a kind of relief I didn't know I could feel. Man, I really am a parent now. I feel the same way every time I look at Michael curled up in my bed.

"Nope. Aren't you lucky?" I don't point out I practically raised my brother, let him figure that out.

Cas is next. "Goodnight Nicholas, sleep tight."

"Goodnight, _Mr. Novak._ " He's pretty sour about that. We didn't resolve that at the family meeting.

Cas kisses his forehead too and doesn't comment even though he knows of Nick's displeasure.

Cas has his thinking face on when we exit. "What are you going to do about that, Cas?"

He's walking down the stairs with purpose, I notice. "I have an idea, but that's not what we need to discuss at the moment." He turns on me. "You, Winchester, are in very big trouble."

I knew that was coming. Much as I have been trying not to think about it, it's been running in the background all fucking day. "Sit on that couch right there, don't move."

When Cas returns, he slams his book down in front of me, it's open to a specific page. "Read me that. Right there."

I look and have to lick my lips. My eyes flick up to his, _relentless_ and back as I take a deep breath.

 _"The choice to obey."_ That's the title of the chapter. I know Cas had me read a section out of here before. I know it's been through his whole book, others have mentioned it—I get it without reading a single word; I read it anyway, transfixed.

_  
Choice to obey. This is fundamental to a domestic discipline relationship. Because that's what it is. The Taken in Hand chooses to obey because it is what they want on a deep level. Reminders may be required for a pouty brat, or a brat throwing a tantrum, even though, when in a rational mind-frame, all parties in the relationship are clear on what works best for everyone. See chapter twelve on maintenance spankings, also related to this topic. Tops, it is your job to remind your taken in hand; to help, guide, teach. The key to success is having both of you always working to remember and maintain this fundamental principle._

"Look I get it Cas. I do chose this. There's something I feel I can't describe. I don't want to lose it, even if it means my ass is unhappy sometimes. You're gonna make sure I remember that whether I want it at the time or not. Can we just get the punishment over?" It's driving me fucking nuts. Just spank me already. Send me to bed. I can't believe I'm craving just that. I want the resolution. I want to pay for my crimes.

"Read the story to me, Winchester."

I groan, but I do it—he's really going to drag this out.

 _"When people find out about the kind of relationship my husband and I practice and I tell them we chose it together, they are always surprised. Of course I get the standard, why would I choose this? And I answer by telling them it's what makes me feel safe, grounded. Often, his job is saving me from myself and the destructive behaviors I'm prone to—the behaviors I know I'm prone to and have pointed out to him. That surprises people too. They think these are things he's pointed out about me, things he wants me to change. It's just the opposite. They are things I want me to change. But Annie, you should be able to stop yourself making poor decisions, aren't you a grown up? Not being able to make decisions is unhealthy, people say. Thing is, I can make decisions. I make important, life-changing decisions everyday at work—that's not my problem. My challenges lie elsewhere. Like with everyone else, I'm not perfect and I have my weaknesses. Some people choose life's consequences as their punishment, I'm saying, I know where I need help, I'd like someone to help me with that, so I don't fall into life's consequences, which may or may not be something I can get myself out of. I choose structure and discipline; I choose to obey. It's something I want. This doesn't mean I don't make mistakes—I do, sometimes on purpose, which is another matter all together! but I know my husband will catch me when I fall. I choose to obey him and that makes me feel free._  
~Annie. G, Chief of Medical Staff

"Yeah that. That's how I feel." I'm smiling and I sound fucking wistful. "Can I meet Annie?"

Cas takes the book from me and grips my shoulders. "That's what my decision was meant to do, make you feel free. You chose to allow me control, that's what I did. Whether it's uncomfortable or not, you do it, you've made this choice. I am here to be that consequence when you don't follow through."

"That makes you sound like a spanking Jiminy Cricket, Cas."

Cas smiles. "Don't try to use humor to get yourself out of trouble Winchester. I'm extremely displeased with you."

"I know Cas, but would you, could you stop looking at me like I'm smelly shoes?"

Instead of answering, he looks through his book again. "Read."

"Aw, Cas." But I do. _"Consequences."_ That's the chapter title. I feel as foreboding as that sounds. _"The consequences are the consequences. As a Top, Head of House, you'll often feel there's this reason, or that reason to forgo the consequences. Perhaps, you'll feel the need to lighten a consequence that has been laid out by the pair of you, if that's the way you structure your relationship; life is full of unforeseens and grey areas. If your deliberation has led you to mitigate punishment it is all right to do so."_

Somehow I don't think Cas is about to do any punishment mitigation here, but I look up at him anyway, hoping I'm done with this reading exercise, which is fucking embarrassing and nerve-wrecking. I get that look, the one that says I'm no where close to being out of the hot-seat and to keep reading.

_"However, I suggest you keep this to a minimum. Brats like to be helpful and come up with any number of 'reasons' their sentence should be reduced. You love them and you could feel sorry for them. Resist. It is better for them to be held to steadfast to accountability. The consequences are the consequences. I suggest keeping them, except for under the most extenuating of circumstances. Do not bend easily. Your brat, or taken in hand if you prefer, will appreciate (even if not at the time) a top's devotion to the rules and consequences. Further, it establishes who the Top is. Every now and again, a brat needs a reminder."_

"Cas I know you're—"

"Read the story."

Stupid Cas and his stupid book.

_"I know I shouldn't, but I'm always trying to get out of punishment. In the beginning of our relationship, it was easy. I've had issues since my husband and I met relating to family. Naturally, my husband was easy to manipulate. I didn't obey him because I was sad about this, I didn't obey him because I was caught up in that. Eventually, consequences became negotiations. We both felt my topping from the bottom. Dr. Novak suggested we don't discuss consequences, at least not in detail, beforehand and that my husband always make it clear that punishment will be swift and firm no matter my excuse. Now I know he means business and it works. I actually do think twice, often three times, before I disobey him. I still try to get out of consequences, but he doesn't bend easily. I don't know how he'll punish me, but I've learned I won't like it and somehow, that's my happy place. ~Robert. N"_

Cas takes the book from my hands and places it on the coffee table. "I am aware of how deep this goes for you Winchester. All the more reason I'm going to punish you in a way that sticks. Come with me."

I drag my feet and follow him to the kitchen. Guess since we're in danger of Nick hearing too now, we have to move spanking locals. "I'm going to need my paddle, Winchester. Retrieve it for me, would you?"

It doesn't matter how much I know I deserve this by this point in the conversation. I still feel grumpy when he asks me to grab the paddle, but I'm not stupid, I'm still in smelly shoes category. I do as I'm told.

The paddle itself, holds a much dread in the air surrounding it as my stomach does. I feel like that Robert guy, I don't know what Cas is going to do, but I know I'm not going to like it. Maybe later, I'll say this was my happy place, but not fucking now.

"H-Here, Cas."

"Place it on the counter."

Everything about this sucks, especially the look I'm getting from Cas. He's all business, like 'Robert's' husband. Huh. Cas is going to be my husband soon.

"What can you be smiling about, Winchester?" Cas finally softens some from his Darth Vader impression. Not much, but some.

"Just thinking about us being husbands. Maybe I'll write you a testimonial for your next book. I'll title it, the Legend is True."

I can see my Winchester charm is working; I'm breaking through the Death Star's shields. He grabs me by the waist of my jeans and pulls me to him. "How do you know I'll write another book?"

"Being married to me is bound to come with stories and learning lessons. Maybe you're thinking you need to change that chapter on consequences?"

"I don't think so, Winchester. Hard as it is to follow one's own advice, I shall persevere, but you are right, I can't wait to learn with you." He kisses me. "These. Off."

When I'm naked from the waist down and bent over the kitchen island, Cas makes good work of my bare ass with just his hand. The kitchen is filled with the sound of my ass getting smacked and I wince with each slap hoping Nick doesn't hear. Yeah he already knows, but how embarrassing. Somehow, I don't think Cas would feel sorry for me if he did see. Little brat would probably just come down, help himself to pulpy orange juice he complains about, tell Cas he missed a spot and head back to bed.

"Dial your brother," Cas says handing me my cell phone. I see he's got a hairbrush in his hand too. I have no idea where it came from; I don't have much time to wonder. I'm more concerned with what he's asking me to do.

"What, like now?" I say wiping at tears. I make to stand up, but Cas places a hand on my back, indicating that I should remain where I am. "Oh, c'mon Cas. This is unfair."

"As unfair as garnering a reward for something you did not earn? I have to say, since you're okay to received sexual rewards, I did consider a sexual punishment."

Fuck. That doesn't sound fun, thankfully it sounds like he's talking in past tense because it was likely never coming again.

"For now at least, I'm not going to go there, but you should know, I thought about edging the Hell out of you and not letting you come, or even a ruined orgasm would have been deserving. I am not pleased about that Winchester."

I hope I never learn what a ruined orgasm is. "I'm sorry, sir." I'm already crying. Not from pain, my ass has only just begun to feel Cas's wrath, but because I feel like the world's biggest asshole—I am the world's biggest asshole.

"He knows anyway, Winchester. Call him, now, or I'm changing my mind."

My fingers dial at lightening speed. "S-Sam?" My greeting is interrupted by several hard whacks from Cas's mystery hairbrush.

"Dean? Everything okay?"

No. My ass feels likes it's on fucking fire. I think I officially hate the hairbrush more than Cas's paddle. "Yeah—" Cas lets loose with a solid hairbrush whack to each cheek. "—No. I called to tell you something."

" _Dean,_ what did you do?"

I really don't like the sound of his voice. I've heard Sam mad before, but there's a quality there, that's new. I know he and Gabe are doing stuff like me and Cas—does that come with some kind of Top tone? Maybe it's in that damn book. "I wasn't exactly honest with you last night. I…I need money, okay? Michael's psychologist costs an arm and a leg and I need financial help. I didn't want to ask you, but Cas made me and I didn't and I lied to you and him."

Thank fuck Cas decides to used his hand right now, when he gifts me a set of spanks to my poor ass. I still have to wince and try to keep from crying out. Sam's not here, but getting spanked in front of my brother even over the phone is mortifying as is. But if I thought I was going to keep it hidden that my pants are off and I'm bare-ass over my own kitchen counter receiving a spanking, Cas annihilates all those illusions. "Tell him what you earned, by lying to him and working yourself into a fit."

"I'm getting a spanking—a good one too. Ow, Cas!" Not only does my brother know Cas is spanking me, I'm yelping in his ear. I mean, it's not likes he's never seen me get spanked, or heard I guess, but still. Even though Sam can't see me, getting spanking in front of him is damn embarrassing.

Sam has no sympathy for me. "Good. I'm just sorry I'm not there to witness. You deserve it. You really need to let us help you more Dean. I know you've got this thing you carry around, because of Dad, _look after Sammy,_ but you need to let it go. Let me look after you for once."

Since it's apparently been too long between spankings, Cas (using the brush this time) alternates cheeks. "Ow! _Cas._ " Fuck this sucks. I know one thing, I'm never fucking doing something like this again. Honest Abe. That's what they'll call me.

When I think I can't take it anymore, Cas stops and rubs a little for me. "What do you have to say to your brother?"

He spanks me through the entire apology, timing the smacks just right. "I'm really sorry, Sammy."

"And?" Cas prompts.

It all seemed like such a big fucking deal before and later I'll ruminate over doing it, but without too much thought, I'm able to say the words, spanking really is some kind of cure-all for me. "Do you mind chipping in for Michael's psychologist?"

"I forgive you Dean and I hope Cas gets through to you. It's not good for you to do this to yourself."

"That's what Cas said," I smile even through my tears.

"Cas knows what he's talking about. And you're lucky he got his hands on you first, or I would have spanked you myself. As for the money for Michael's psychologist, let me talk to Cas."

I groan. "Sam wants to talk to you, sir."

Cas takes the phone and just because I get a spanking break, it's no holiday. I don't know how many times Cas's spanked me by this point, but I know I'm never sitting again.

"Uh-huh. Yeah. I see. I'll do that." They talk for a few then, "Say hi to Gabriel for me. We'll see you tomorrow."

"What'd he say, Cas?"

Smack. "Sir."

" _Sir._ "

"He's not pleased that you lied to him and he supports whatever punishment or punishments I deem fit."

Wait 'till I get out of this position. I'm calling him back to give him a piece of my mind.

"He also asked me if he could pay for Michael's therapy entirely. I said yes."

Just like that. Cas said yes to a decision _I'm_ supposed to make about my finances. I should be outraged, indignant and other angered adjectives, but I can't feel anything except relief, and my burning ass.

Cas picks up _his_ paddle and rubs it against my ass. "What do you have to say to say for yourself, Winchester?"

He hasn't used the damn paddle and I'm already wiping at tears. "I'm really sorry, sir. I really don't know how it got that out of hand. I won't do it again."

"No, you won't."

Cas makes sure I won't, using his fucking paddle like a damned pro. When my ass feels like the wrong side of an iron, Cas leads me over to a corner in the kitchen, sniffling. This time I'm instructed to stand with my elbows touching the wall, hands behind my head. "Your naughty bottom can be on display, we still have another thing to discuss. You'd better be thinking about what you'd like to say to me about taking rewards when they're not deserved."

**

We spend a long time cuddling on the couch after that massive spanking. My ass doesn't want to touch anything, but it doesn't seem to mind Cas's fingers grazing the surface, drawing ovals. I cry into Cas, apologizing, begging forgiveness and he murmurs his usual; that's it's all right, I'm forgiven; he loves me.

Once I'm calm and kissed and cuddled (the last two almost to death, but I don't mind so much right now) he gets serious again. "You are forgiven Dean, but your punishment is not over. I think it's important to drive home the lesson—you do as I say."

"Cas," I whine. "I do, do as you say."

"No, but you will." He kisses my head and gives me another squeeze.

I'm content here in my Cas lair. I almost don't care about the impending doom above me. "What will it be then, the rack? Or the chains?"

"You're getting reminder spankings every night this week before bed."

The cheeks of my ass squeeze. "Every night?"

"Every night. Until that is done, we're not having sex."

"Whoa, wait, stop the bus. I thought you said no sex punishments?"

"Technically, it's not. I'm not feeling particularly 'in the mood' after rewarding you sexually; unearned. I can refuse sex if I want to."

"Cas, you're a dude, we never feel 'not in the mood,' I call bullshit."

"Fine, but I am displeased and willing to go without for a cause."

I'm not happy about that, but I deserve it, we both know it. "Yes, sir."

"Good boy." He pushes my hair back. "Now that's done, we should talk about getting married tomorrow. I still haven't really talked to Sam, but—"

"We all swayed you, didn't we?"

Cas sighs. "Yeah. I shouldn't let myself be swayed, I really shouldn't, but I've never felt like this, Baby. I'm going to make us work. I can do this," he says like he's thought about it and that's the decision and that's that. I'm fucking glad.

I smirk at him. "We're kinda irresistible."

"Don't think for a second this means I'm going to let you three walk all over me."

"I have no fucking illusions of that Cas, my ass feels like Hades."

"Good. In that case, yes. Let's get married and raise a family together."


	31. Nicky-Nick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know how well this chapter will go over, but well, sorry? It's important though, I think, to this story and if we're going to have a sequel, so...hope it's enjoyed! 
> 
> Next chapter will have more of the fun stuffs we're used to, Dean antics, Dean/Sam antics, Michael being cute, Cas having to keep everyone in line! and more.

When I step out of bed I almost trip over Nick who's on my side of the bed—good move on his part, I don't think Cas would have been pleased if he'd found him.

It's a morning at least two of us should be working, Monday, but neither of us are thank god. Michael was up last night and this time it was a family affair. Nick stumbled out of his room and ignored me telling him to go back to sleep, but he was helpful and got me a bottle. Cas came downstairs to me swaying my teary-eyed son (there was no way I could sit on a rocking chair) and Nick lounging on the couch, eyes closed, but awake.

"Let's go Nicholas," Cas said. Of course Nick complained, but one look from a grumpy, sleepy Cas and he allowed said grouch to frog-march him back upstairs.

My ass is no happier, but I got shit to do before Cas and Michael wake up and now I'm enlisting a recruit via subscription. "Psst, Nicky. Up."

He glares at me like he'd rather roast me alive. "I could tell Cas on you."

He looks over to Cas, scared he might be awake then quietly gets up to follow me out of the room. I love the way his hair sticks up after he's been sleeping. I know he hates that. "I'm tired," he complains when we're heading down the stairs.

"Me too."

"I'm still growing—aren't you supposed to tell me this?"

"Yeah and believe me I will, but today is special. We need to make them breakfast, a nice breakfast and I was hoping you'd help me with something else too?"

He tries to flatten his hair and shoves a hand up his shirt to scratch his belly with a yawn. "Yeah, I guess."

"Good." We head into the kitchen and I pull stuff out. "You can't sleep on the floor, Nicky."

He's embarrassed. I didn't mean to embarrass him, but him sleeping on the floor gives me similar feelings to him being out in the cold on the porch. "Sorry."

"It's not that you're not wanted in there. Were you scared?"

"I wasn't scared. I was worried about Michael."

I think there's something else. I pass him the eggs so he can start cracking. I pull out the waffle maker. "Michael's fine. He was dead asleep when I heard you creep in."

Silence.

"I’m going to harass you 'till you tell me. We talk in this house." Yeah, that's a Cas line, but I think it's safe to say that's a thing now.

"Leave me alone about it." His voice wavers and he wipes at his right eye. Wow, that really breaks him up. I give him a sideways squeeze. "Look it's dumb. I'll be fine tonight."

"It's not dumb. Cas is going to make you spill your guts eventually anyway." I hope he'll feel more secure once he's adopted. I bet he thought… "Last night was not your last night here, Nick."

"I didn't say that."

"No, but I bet you were lying up all night thinking about it."

Silence.

I stop what I'm doing and turn to face him and grab his shoulders. "Nick, I know we got a lot to prove to you, but I swear we will, okay?"

He nods and turns away. He's so fucking sad. I imagine what it's like to be him for a second. He has to pretty much raise himself and his brother. That must have been fucking scary, not knowing what's going to happen everyday. Then the worst happens, you lose what little you had holding you together and you can't support your brother like you thought you could. Then his dad fucking rejects him. Why wouldn't he think something's going to go wrong here? "And I'll see what I can do to convince Cas that you should sleep in our room—I'm not exactly in his good books."

I get a quarter smile. "What's the other thing you need help with?"

"A ring for Cas. Maybe you can help me pick one out?" I'm getting money from Sam for the therapist, I was thinking I can borrow a little extra and use some I've already got for a ring. It won't be too fancy, but it will be a ring.

"Does that mean Cas decided yes? I thought he had to talk to Sam?"

"Naw. Cas acts tough, but he's a complete pushover when it comes to me and now you and Michael."

"I was only upstairs and I was still awake, Dean. I know he was spanking you."

For some reason, I'm not as embarrassed by Nick knowing, like I was Sam. Now that the shock of Nick _knowing_ is wearing off, it doesn't bother me. I mean, I'm not giving him a first row ticket to the show, but it doesn't seem like a big deal. "Okay, so he's not a pushover. But he decided yes, we're getting married."

Nick's quiet, but it's a sacred kind of quiet, like I just gave him the map to the Holy Grail. He looks down and smiles. I know why. He knows he prompted this and without a thought, we're just running off to do it. He's not crying, but he's not far off, standing, frozen; paralyzed. I yank him to me. "Hey, hey. You deserve a home, kid. I'm glad you want us, 'cause we want you so bad and someday you'll know it."

He wraps his arms around me (which feel thin in only the t-shirt I loaned him) and mumbles something into my chest which sounds like "thank you, Dean."

We've got waffles and coffee together by the time Cas comes in with Michael. "Daddy," Michael cries. He looks pissed off. Great.

Cas kisses me. "He's not happy."

"I see that. What's up with you, grease monkey? Why are you a grouch?"

"Uh!" He furls into me.

"Fine, don't talk, I can one hand it. Help Daddy."

"No!"

I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing. "Well this is fun. We're getting married all of us tired."

Cas wipes his face with both hands and gives me a sleepy smile. "How are you this morning, Winchester?"

He's inquiring about my tender backside of course. "Other than the fact I won't be sitting with you guys for breakfast, I'm fine."

"Did you finally get some sleep last night, Nicholas? After you made yourself at home on Dean's side of the bed?"

I can almost see Nick turn red. "Yeah."

With Michael still grouching into my torso (I give him an extra squeeze) I place a stack of waffles on the table, Nick set the table with everything else, so I also proceed to make Michael a plate. Despite all the turmoil I can feel around us this morning, I feel light, the same lightness I always seem to feel after Cas spanks me.

"Speaking of that Cas, anyway we can fit Nick into the room?"

"Don't be ridiculous Winchester. We can't all sleep in your bed."

"This is stupid. I'm just going to be an outsider here too, isn't that right _Dr. Novak?_ "

Guess he's still pissed about that too.

"Nobody's an outsider. It's time all the children of this house slept in their own beds."

What? Like even Michael? No way in Hell. "Michael can't sleep by himself Cas, you heard him last night."

"I did. He's going to wake up crying no matter what, same for Nicholas. Sleeping in his own room will be good for him, Winchester."

Cas is making sense. A lot of sense. But I don't fucking care right now. I'm not ready to sleep without Michael. "No. No way. That's horseshit, Cas. Not happening. You know? Maybe I'll go sleep with the kids tonight and you can have a room all by yourself."

Cas puts his head in his hands like he might be getting a headache. "Oh for the love of—"

"Can we also discuss the Mr. Novak thing?"

"Yeah, I agree, Cas. Mr. Novak's a little too anal, even for you."

"Yeah!" says Michael not knowing what he's saying 'yeah' to just agreeing with his daddy and big brother.

We continue to complain to Cas, Nick suggesting another family meeting and me saying we should just install another bed in our room, Michael just shouting in general; Cas is done. "Enough. Enough!" It's not really yelling so much as talking above our loud voices. We all shut up, even Michael. "Our next family meeting is Sunday, Nicholas. We can discuss monikers at that time. Dean, it will be good for Michael to begin to _try_ sleeping in his own bed. He can sleep with Nicholas, no one will be alone."

I hold Michael tighter. I still don't fucking like it, but I do like the thought of them sleeping together. Nick's mildly soothed for now, but he's not happy either. This calling Cas something less formal is really important to him.

"If I hear anymore about either, I'll spank you both right here. Am I understood?"

"Yes, sir," we both say.

Satisfied, Cas says, "Are you still sleepy, my lad?"

"Uh-huh, Cas." Poor Michael's rubbing his eyes. I bounce him.

"Would you come see, Cas?"

"No!"

Michael continues to be difficult all through breakfast. Nick is quiet. I eventually come to the conclusion the ring trip's not going to happen. Michael doesn't want anyone but me and I can't go to a ring store with Michael this pissed off. Cas and I silently agree to keep the mood light. It feels like we're traversing a field of land mines and we avoid them by concentrating on the upcoming nuptials, which Sam calls to tell me have been set up. I ask him about rings and he says not to worry about it—he's taken care of that too. I owe Sam. I owe my brother everything. He's helping me and I can tell he's irked at me.

When breakfast is done, it's decided that Cas and Nick will do the dishes and I go see if Mr. Grouch-o will go to sleep. Michael looks relieved to be back in bed, almost as if he'd gotten up just to test and see if waking up was what he wanted to do, but decided, fuck this. He looks at me, "Daddy," he says rubbing his eyes. "I'm not getting married today."

I laugh. Where does he come up with this stuff? "No, you're not. Daddy is."

"To Cas?"

I wonder if he knows what married really is? "Yah-huh. To Cas. We loves him, remember?" I don't know if he knows what marriage is (guess I'm about to teach him) or if he even realizes something big's about to happen.

He's too tired to be generous and smile, but he does seem to be cool with it. I yank him down and cuddle him on the bed getting all teary-eyed as he says things like, "Hey Daddy!" and "Stop that!" Cas is right, him sleeping in his own bed is going to be good for him, but it doesn't mean I can't be sad, like he's growing up and off to college and marrying his girlfriend _or_ boyfriend and having kids of his own and next I know I'm old Grampa Winchester in a rocking chair on the porch. Least it'll be with Cas.

"You'd better come visit me when I'm old," I tell him and stop squeezing him so hard.

"Be quiet Daddy. I'm grouch-o."

I taught him that. "Yeah, I guess you are. Go to sleep grease monkey, we'll discuss the visiting schedule for your old, greying father, _fathers_ later."

**

He remembers being five and wanting a Tickle Me Elmo doll like the little Jewish boy called Ezra in the kindergarten class he sometimes went to (sometimes because sometimes Lisa was too sick to take him, and sometimes just because she forgot, or even sometimes, because she didn't think he needed to go because she needed him to look after her more) and he wanted it like he'd never remembered wanting anything. It was the first time he had decided to want something.

Other times he felt a yearning sensation for something he couldn't place, like when you're hungry and you can't decide what to eat, but it would always go away. Sometimes the feeling stayed longer than at other times, but it would go away eventually. That's also about the time he began watching people. He watched Ezra from afar and up close. When he got there, to school early, Nick would sit and wait with anticipation to see what would happen when Ezra and his mom showed up. Ezra would walk in and yank his hand out of his mother's and run for the cloakroom, she would follow him with Elmo under her arm smiling at her son because (Nick imagined) she loved him very much. She would place the bag that held his lunch in his cubbie and crouch down to this level. "Ezra," she'd say, "Don't forget Elmo." She'd kiss Elmo's head and hand the doll to Ezra. What she meant was, don't forget her.

"I wouldn't Mama." He'd hug the doll close as she squeezed them both. The whole scene was fascinating and he was too little to put the whole thing together, instead, he figured Elmo must contain some sort of magic. Because why didn't Lisa do that with him? He was ushered out of the car often hurried by her, because he'd usually stall, apprehensive (he worried she'd either forget to come pick him up—she did sometimes—and, or, that something could happen to her in the time he was away from her and not looking after her) and because of an empty, lonely tugging that seemed to make all the pieces inside him fall downward to some imaginary pit, a bottomless pit where they never stopped falling and when he got out of the car, watching her drive away that feeling got worse. It always felt like Lisa was one day closer to leaving him. She'd never said that she was planning on it, but that's what the feeling said to him: His days with her were numbered, but he could never figure out why he felt like that.

He knew he was a good boy. Lisa told him that on occasion. Of course then, he didn't call her Lisa, but he called her mama for such a short time, he could only remember her as Lisa. Even when he was very little, he sensed that "Mama" made her uncomfortable. And why shouldn't it? Mothers looked after their children, but Nick had always looked after her.

The first time he found her on the floor, he brought her water (which was hard, he was three and had to climb to reach the plastic cups in the cupboard) and animal crackers and sat petting her hair a long time. He can remember this and that he peed in the diaper he still wore three times before she did wake up (some leaking onto the floor) and equally as vivid the look on her face when he said, "Mama, you slept a long time."

Her whole body had wrinkled with discomfort and Nick knew (even then) it was something to do with "Mama." Later, he would muse, that even in her half-delirious states, she knew she wasn't a "Mama." She couldn't look after herself, how could she look after another human?

But she called him good boy sometimes in those days and he knew he was (he took good care of her) yet there was some nagging reason, that always seemed just out of his reach of knowing that would explain why she would leave him.

He got used to looking after Lisa. It became who he was. He knew she needed him and sometimes she would cry and tell him how sorry she was that she wasn't better. She'd make him all kinds of promises that she would get better. "I'll be able to buy you all kinds of things," she would say in these rare moments. "What will you want then, Nicky-Nick?"

He wanted to live the fantasy with her, but he knew better, those days would never come, but like he did when he looked after her (these times were no different) he indulged her, hoping to get her to smile, hoping it would buy him one more day. "A doll, Mama. Just an Elmo doll." She promised he would have it, but he would never have it. He never did.

Time went on and she didn't get better, but there were times she was functional. It was almost worse when she was because that gave him hope, however small that she could get better and they could be a family. His fascination with watching the kids at school with their parents (he had learned how to get himself to school by first grade and to only go when he thought Lisa was of sound enough mind not to do something stupid. However little care she took of him, it was still care he needed and what would happen to him if one day she couldn't?) grew and like it was some strange perversion, he'd look away when they could feel his eyes on them.

He watched them like a T.V. show, wishing he could jump in and be the one being kissed on the cheek goodbye and told to make sure he was out front where he was supposed to be after school. Sometimes he watched the parents scold their kids. They'd misbehave, throw tantrums, pout and Nick liked that too. He could sense how much they cared. Parents scolded, lectured, gave warnings of what was to come if they were disobeyed, because they cared.

Nick had never gotten any of that. He didn't misbehave around Lisa (it was too important for him to be there for her), so he decided he would, to see what she would do. Would she spank him with a tap to his bottom, like he'd seen happen to the other kids? Would she be the sort of parent to give him a time-out, or take away his favorite toy? (Not that he had any toys to take away, but he sometimes banged on the pots like they were drums and maybe she'd tell him he couldn't do that 'till he had learned whatever lesson she wanted him to learn)

He tried little things, things he'd seen the other kids do, things he'd picked up from television or from watching the kids in the trailer next door. When Lisa came home from one of her shifts, he told her to fuck off. He told her he hated her and used some of the phrases he'd heard the other kids say, "You're a useless pile of garbage and I hate you."

He waited with anticipation to see what she'd do. To see how she would punish him both fearing it and wanting it at the same time. Instead, her lip wobbled and she let out a terrible, pained wail, but then made herself go silent. She fled from the room, locked herself in her room for days after that. Nick was punished, but not by her, by himself. He slammed himself into a wall, hating what he said, happy with the bruises he ended up with. He hadn't known (not really) what the words he said meant, but he knew they were bad. It's why he said them, he wanted to hear, "you're in big trouble Mister," he'd even settle for a gentle scolding, "Nick, you shouldn't say those things to your mother."

She didn't do anything of those things and Nick couldn't understand. Wasn't he worth it? What made him so unlovable, he wasn't worth caring about? He would get no answers, but the tugging, the horrible, empty feeling, the one that turned his guts to liquid and more often now, stone, was with him, heavy like sludge; it felt like he was closer now than ever to having Lisa go away.

He checked on her several times a day and apologized over and over telling her he didn't meant it, he'd heard it in school, he was trying to be like another kid—Conner—and that he sees now he shouldn't have said that (still with the small hope that maybe she'd tell him he couldn't hang out with that kid anymore) she said nothing, but thankfully, he was distanced from the horrible feeling. She finally emerged on the third day (at least she drank the water he brought her) looking thinner and more soulless and less like a person (if that was possible) than before, but she was there and that was what mattered. "I'm sorry, Nick." He said everything to her she already thought herself, confirmed it all, nor was it likely to change—that's what her apology meant. It broke his heart.

Nick vowed never to do that again, but he couldn't shake this desire he had to get her to care (like an event might suddenly trigger the act), so he did other things, careful never to do something directly related to her person, words or otherwise. There was a long list of detentions and things he did, to have notes written home about him. He was scolded at school for it and it did help a little bit (at least someone seemed to care about his existence) but it didn't scratch the itch inside him; Lisa didn't care—the person he wanted to care the most. She still told him he was a good boy (even though he wasn't anymore) and ignored his attempts to act out.

Truth be told, even he knew how fraudulent an act he was running. While he did things in school to earn detentions, at home he devoted himself to looking after Lisa. As he got older, he was disgusted with how dirty the hole they lived in was, so he cleaned that too, best as he knew how, looking up stuff on the computers at school and in the library the best way to remove ring around the bathtub, or unclog a slow running drain. He still acted out, but eventually, the original purpose died. Eventually, he knew he would have no lectures from her, no matter what he did. There were life's consequences, he learned that the hard way, and these were harder to carry on his conscience—he wished he had someone to stop him doing stupid things, before he did them. Just someone to take a load off, would have been as welcome as the former.

Nick knew this was the take home anyway, life's consequences had a way of teaching you, but that's not what he craved. He still wished it would be a someone who loved him and who gave a flying fuck, enough to try and stop him having to learn the hard way. That's not what he would get though. He didn't know why he was destined to live this kind of life (it was a lonely kind of life) but this is what he would live.

It made him angry. He began yelling at her, not to receive any sort of punishment (he'd long given up on that) but because he was irritated with her. When he'd do this, she acted like she always did, like she deserved it and it was he who felt guilty. Because much as he felt like he shouldn't, she was his mother; he loved her and like most children there was still awe when he looked at her (even if it was only once in a while now) and unfathomably, he still felt that indescribable connection between Mother and child always hoping, stupidly hoping that someday she would be restored and they could be a family.

And of course, the ever present feeling that something he would do, or say would end in her leaving (she had started staying away for a few days at a time, which she did often enough now, he could sense when she might leave) or her shutting herself away from him (Nick was used to her despondence around him and as horrible as that was, her shutting herself up was worse, not to mention he was always worried she'd lose her job over so many days not showing up to work—she never did though).

On and on it went like this. Nick taking care of Lisa and, he supposed, her providing for him when she could. She mostly managed to keep him fed and the same shithole over their heads, which he knew was something and was in his mind, ever since the family next door (with Conner and Tabatha) had been evicted for not paying the rent (or so the story went). Nick got used to the feeling of something missing. He would still yearn time to time, still want to be someone's kid, still wanted that magic thing that seemed to pass between Ezra and his mother whenever she handed him that doll, but he got used to living with unfulfilled yearning; the dissatisfaction of fantasies never reached. He continued to create his own.

Some days were harder than others. He'd managed to steal a bike when he was nine, which made getting to school a whole lot easier. Why he went to school? He wasn't sure. Lisa didn't care whether he went or not, but he knew it was important and that he should go. Lisa was going through some particularly bad times. She stopped taking him to school altogether. The reliable little nineteen seventy, Chevy Nova Lisa drove (where she got it from, he didn't know, she'd had it since he'd come to remember anything) quit and they didn't have the money for her to get it fixed. She barely had money to put gas in it, or pay insurance. When the transmission went, it sat collecting moss and dirt and rain.

But the bike was in good condition and got him to school fine, until it was decimated in an accident that nearly took him with it. He was barreling down the hills as he liked to (so what if he fell? It's not like anyone would miss him. Lisa would be relieved) but something had happened to a piece of the road; before he noticed the crater-sized dip, it was too late. He went flying, the bike out from under him, landing in the road in front of a car which crushed it. His body slammed onto the pavement, narrowly missing his head, but rolling, the pavement grating his skin like cheese, he landed funny on his arm.

He refused help from the man who'd ended up running over his bike. He wasn't far from home, he'd told the man, his mom would look after him. The words sounded so nice, he decided to believe them as long as he could make them last, at least enough to convince the man. He didn't want the man coming by, asking questions. Nick was older now, his situation wasn't good, but he knew what happened to kids whose mothers were like Lisa; they were taken away. He didn't want to be taken away from her even then and even later when he would begin to hate her.

He told the man not to worry about the bike (it was his fault) and that his mom would get him a new one (he'd steal a new one). The man shrugged and left. Even being as close to home as he was, the short distance seemed forever. He discovered he couldn't walk well and he was worried about the way his arm hung and how it throbbed. There was a large gash on his forearm that was beginning to bleed through his long-sleeved shirt and the oversized sweatshirt he wore over that (Nick always wore layers. Someone had asked a question once about why he was so thin). Never had he wanted more than to be able to call his mom, have her pick him up and do whatever one was supposed to do in this situation for him. He had no idea what he should do, the anxiety that he would do the wrong thing overwhelmed him.

He hurt, everywhere hurt, but he cried at his helplessness more than anything physical. Somehow, he managed to make it home. The trailer was empty (he knew Lisa was at work, or hoped she was). He pressed at the bones in his foot and while they hurt, he didn't think they were broken, but his arm was at an odd angle and in unbelievable pain. He hobbled around the house, gathering what he could to clean and bandage himself and sat thinking as to what to do about his arm.

It occurred to him that he could call Lisa at work. Would she come rushing home for him? "I've been in an accident," he'd say. "I don't know what to do."

"Oh, Nicky-Nick!" she'd say, calling him what she did in those rare times, the times he called her okay times, "I'll be right home to look after you." He laid on the smelly, old carpet, the one he could never seem to freshen no matter what the internet told him, and dreamed of how it would go and the feeling that would accompany it. The satisfying relief, the sense of handing over, like dragging around a heavy suitcase for too long and someone takes it from you, so you can rest. She'd know what to do and do it, giving him instructions he'd follow. She'd smile at him (like Ezra's mom would smile at Ezra) and he'd feel safe and loved.

This is why he didn't call. He couldn't bear hearing her dispassionate voice and her telling him she was sure he'd be able to take care of it on his own. Her voice would be kind when she said this (Lisa was never mean or cruel to him) but it wouldn't be what he wanted, or needed and it could finally break him.

Instead he hobbled over to the trailer where the landlord lived. He knew the landlord liked Lisa for reasons he didn't want to think about and that even if begrudgingly, he'd do something to help him. "I had an accident," Nick said.

Mr. Temple was not a nasty person, but Nick still didn't like the relationship he had with Lisa. Sometimes, Nick was even jealous of it (and how fucked up was that?) because Lisa always made sure to smile at Mr. Temple the right way and even sounded interested in what he would say to her. Nick rarely got that. Sometimes, Lisa could barely look at Nick, but she looked at Mr. Temple.

"Look's dislocated," Mr. Temple said assessing his arm. "Where's your mom?"

"Working."

"Doesn't she have a Mom? Get her to take you to the hospital. I don't have time." Mr. Temple didn't like to involve himself with Nick, but there had been other occasions where he had, which is why he ended up there then.

Lisa did have a Mom, Nick's grandma, but they never saw her anymore. He knew about her dementia which she'd gotten far earlier than most people got dementia and that it had already progressed to a point, before Nick was born, that she was a shell of her former self. Since he hadn't known her before, he didn't know different, but when Lisa stopped visiting, so did he. He learned not to like those visits. Lisa was a mess for days after. He wanted to forget he had a Grandma too. All it inspired were more fantasies, where he was baking cookies with Grandma and told to "Be a dear and get the mail for me would you, Grandson?"

He didn't know anyone, whose Grandparents called them "Grandson," but they were his fantasies and he liked the idea of being referred to as that as being someone's.

Nick's grandma was too sick to be able to do any of those things with him, she wouldn't be able to patch him up either. He shook his head. "Please, I, I can do something for you." In that moment, he was ashamed for asking, for thinking that, because both he and Mr. Temple knew what he was offering, but he didn't have anything else to offer and he needed help.

Mr. Temple smacked him across the face. "Don't ever proposition yourself to me boy. I'm a lot of things, but a pedophile ain't one."

Nick put his hand to his face, nodding. He was glad too. He had no idea what he would have done if Mr. Temple had said yes. And even though he knew Mr. Temple was scolding Nick to protect his own interests, not for Nick's benefit, he felt a little bit of relief. Not the relief he was looking for (this was more like when a teacher would give him detention, or the Principal at his school would tut at him) but it was nice to have someone set him some kind of boundary.

"I'm not taking you to the hospital, but I know how to set that. I'm a little rusty, but I'm the best you got."

He was given a piece of leather to bite down on; he screamed anyway and Mr. Temple had done a good job. The pain in his arm dulled to an ache and he was able to go home (with some Advil Mr. Temple gave him) and sleep 'till Lisa got home. He'd fallen asleep on the couch and half woke to Lisa running fingers through his hair. It was hard not to move, not to let her know he'd come awake, but he knew if she discovered he wasn't sleeping, she would stop and he wanted this to last for as long as it would. For it only to stop when she decided. He hoped it was never. His mind went wild; more fantasies of him waking up to breakfast she cooked for him; eggs, bacon, beans and toast with fruit and she would wait on him, all the while lecturing him on road safety and "How could you ride without your helmet, young man?" and "I'm afraid you won't be getting another bike until you can learn your lesson about riding bikes safely."

He wouldn't get any of that, but he did get one small thing he'll always remember. "My Nicky-Nick. Resilient. He'll make it despite me." From that day forward he knew he had to because he recognized what her tone held: Pride. He'd seen it enough when he'd stare at other families, he'd fantasized about it enough to know, he long stopped dreaming he'd get it from her, but there it was: Pride. She was proud of him, at least for a moment and that was a clue, maybe he could win her over.

His hatred for her didn't come until Michael.

He felt so many things when she told him she would be having a baby. He already got so little attention from her, would he be ignored completely? Who would look after it? He knew the answer to that one; him. Nick didn't know anything about babies other than having been one himself. All his fears dissolved when Lisa changed. She was happy for the first time he could remember. She smiled. One day, she even showed up with more groceries than they ever had. Nick still had to make the food (the pregnancy exhausted her) but she ate with him at the table. She was filled with excitement and Nick caught onto it.

She even allowed some information to slip about his father. She had before, during some of her "good" spells, but now he knew a name, Edward and he knew the name of his new sibling's father too. Dean Winchester.

It never occurred to him to ask if he could meet his father, or Michael's father. Later, Nick would decide that Lisa did have a magic about her after all, he was wrapped up in her, in a way he'll never be able to explain and while he criticized her a thousand times in his mind, he never wanted to do anything to hurt her like he had that day; he knew asking about his father, or Michael's father would make her feel badly, so he gathered what information he could when she offered it.

And before Michael was born, before Nick knew Michael was Michael, Lisa told him many things, things that extended outside his paternity. He learned things about his grandmother too—Lisa had been close with her before she got sick. Nick was hopeful for the first time in a long time that maybe things were turning around, maybe Lisa could be Mom (he hadn't called her anything close to Mom in a long time) and before he hated her, he fell more in love with her.

When Michael was born, Nick remembers the smile he was given from her before things went wrong again. They were at home and Michael started crying, but he knew Lisa had just closed her eyes. She was so tired and looking weary, Nick ran to retrieve Michael before he could wake her. Nick shushed him, "Quiet Michael, Mama's sleeping," (he always called Lisa, Mama to Michael, Michael should get to call her Mama and besides, it gave him the excuse to do it again) and when he still wouldn't, "Okay, I'm putting a plug in if you can't be quiet." He grabbed one of the soothers from the counter and popped it in Michael's mouth, marveling at how fast the kid shut up. Lisa had woken up anyway, (he'd get better at it, he would be faster next time) and looked at both of them a long time before a serene smile spread across her features.

"That's the way, Nicky-Nick." Lisa was beautiful. Nick thought about this often even when he was the most angry he could be at her. She could have been many things, but she never was and when she smiled like that, Nick wished he could take a picture. Anyone Lisa smiled at felt special for as long as she smiled at them; Nick was no different.

And Michael. From the moment his squalling, squealing little form was placed in his arms, Nick was in love. He knew he would have to help Lisa (just because she was a better version of herself, that didn't mean he didn't have his usual responsibilities) that Michael would need him. He was happy when Michael got some of the better pieces of Lisa. Maybe he had too when he was a baby like Michael, he didn't know because there was no one to tell him if he had or not. It was expected that Nick look after Michael while she worked at night and the weekends and even some days when she'd get called in, or couldn't go in (he would have to miss school those days) but in the beginning of Michael's life, she spent time with him.

And even when she didn't, Nick did what he could to hide who she really was from Michael. He'd cry and cry for her (Nick knew the feeling even if he didn't cry for her anymore) but Nick would always promise him she would be back even if sometimes, she would leave for days.

Nick spent most of the time being scared out of his mind. He knew nothing but the crash course he'd been given in the early months of Michael's life, but he did it, haunted (forever) by that small glimpse of pride, of proving to her that he was worthy, no matter how angry he'd get with her and he tried so hard to give Michael what he needed, which gave him (finally) the distinction that she wasn't well. It was easy to blame himself for her failings, but not Michael. Michael, who was pure and innocent and perfect was neglected too. While there could be and were reasons to shun Nick, there could be no conceivable reason she'd do this to Michael, but she did. It either meant she was flawed, or that Michael was; Michael wasn't. Sure he was loud and needy (he was aware of how much this overwhelmed Lisa, how much Michael overwhelmed Lisa—Nick could understand the feeling) but there was no reason to shun Michael because of it.

The critiques he always kept in his head, were given life. He could forgive her for how she neglected him, but he couldn't find that same generosity where Michael was concerned. He couldn't forgive her for stopping going to work altogether, nor for ignoring mostly of Michael's screams. By this point, Nick knew something was wrong with her, that she was sick somehow, but he was angry and unsympathetic. Michael suffered because of her and he had to watch.

When she finally did leave them, Nick felt many things, the usual things you feel when someone you cared about and cared for dies (he might have hated her, but the hate didn't erase the love that was always there, that he wished he could get rid of); anger, sadness, pain, but it was the relief that surprised him. He'd spend so long knowing she was going to leave and trying to prevent it, when she finally did, he didn't have to worry about that anymore.

When he brought Michael to live with Dean, he originally thought of it as a loan. Somehow, Nick would find the resources, somehow he would reunite with his brother. In the meantime, he would keep an eye. He visited the house every day. It was a strange fucking house. But it was early on, when he saw that Michael now had his own magic doll, one that made a parent look at you like Dean looked at Michael that he knew Michael was no longer "on loan." Michael was Dean's now. Nick missed him.

Of course he'd say things in his head like, "If Dean ever does anything to hurt Michael," but he knew Dean wouldn't. Nick was glad for his brother. His brother had everything Nick had ever wanted and since Nick knew he was never going to get that, he relished in Michael having it. The fantasies of his childhood (some would say he was still in his childhood, but Nick hadn't felt like a child in a very long time, if ever, since his first memory was of taking care of his mother—of Lisa) returned and he decided to live vicariously through Michael. He began watching again (and couldn't help but criticize in his mind, since Nick could tell this Winchester fellow was flying by the seat of his pants sometimes) like he used to, finding this house more fascinating than any other house, or family he'd watched.

He had been careful, only allowing himself to watch at certain times, for a predetermined length of time, but when things really went sour with Edward (once again shunned, shut out), his craving for family became unbearable, like before and since Michael was the only family he'd ever had, he spent so much time watching them, got lost in watching them, he sometimes he forgot he wasn't supposed to be watching them at all. He sometimes thought he was one of them, that he could slip in with them easily.

He had crazy daydreams where he thought, what if I was in there with them? What would I say to them? What would they say to me? He began to think, again, about what it would be like to feel the relief he could see on Michael's face when he'd sink into Dean. The Cas fellow looked strict, but how nice would it be to have someone just tell him what to do? He wouldn't have to make decisions, sometimes life-altering decisions he felt in no way prepared for. They could be made for him. He knew he wouldn't like some of the decisions they'd make for him (in all the families he'd watched, this seemed to be the trend) but he would be glad for them. He envisioned the way he would relax when he was told, "Put your jacket on, before you catch your death of cold," or even, "That's enough T.V. for one day. Go play with your brother outside," and likely, "I'm starting to think you need a spanking."

He heard Cas say something like that to Dean once and as much as he didn't think he'd like being spanked, he couldn't deny the how soothing the words were. Especially said like Cas did, with so much love and affection (but of course inflexible command) you might think it was an endearment if you didn't know what those words meant.

Nick had always known, since before Michael opened his eyes, that he loved Michael. This was before he knew Michael even, but Michael was blood, you're supposed to love your blood relations, even if they decided for whatever reason, that you were unlovable.

Dean and Castiel have no reason to love him, or invite them into their home (well, Dean's home) and they really have no reason to ask him to be their son, but they did anyway. Here he is on the cusp of being in a family, a real family where he knows from watching how much they pay attention, how much they care, how much you're always remembered and best of all, how much they do for you, so you don't have to.

He knows what he's being offered: His best daydreams wrapped into one. Someone's son. Two someone's son; with his brother; rules, structure, care. It's why he was up all night (yeah Dean was right) thinking about everything, fantasizing, dreaming while awake. He didn't want to fall asleep. Like the man in a movie he watched once, he was afraid he'd close his eyes and return to his life before. The desolate one, the one filled with fear and constant anxiety. The one where he might be responsible for his brother dying if he fucked up.

Just in case, he crept in with them: Michael, Dean and Cas (his new parents?) and relished in laying beside them, under his cozy duvet, feeling them without touching them. If it was all a dream that would be ripped away tomorrow, he wanted this night with him. He stayed awake as long as he could; his eyes finally closing as the sun was coming up.

He did wake up, still with them, but that's not enough. He's surprised to learn how much more he needs. Proof. Something tangible; meaningful. Cas won't let him call him anything other than Mr. Novak, or Sir. He doesn't think he's supposed to be calling him Dr. Novak, but he does anyway, to make a point. Maybe it's a taunt, so Cas'll scold him, punish him? So long as he gets something to indicate that Cas cares. He can't help being mortally disappointed over the 'Mr. Novak' thing. Least he's allowed some kind of familiarity with Dean. But who calls their parents, Dean and Mr. Novak? He'd called his mother Lisa, but she wasn't his parent. He doesn't want 'Dean and Mr. Novak.'

He should be grateful they care about him in any capacity and he is, but he's also greedy; he wants it all. Is he forever going to be an outsider, watching from the sidelines?

He's washing dishes with _Dr. Novak_ who's drying (what's the fucking dishwasher for if they're just going to do them all by hand?) and he doesn't realize how aggressive he's becoming, 'till Cas has to put one of his sure hands over his and stop him. They're both silent for several heartbeats then Cas releases him and he continues washing, gentler this time.

"You know, Nicholas, my father was in the military, we called him father, or sir."

That's a hell of a lot better than Mr. Novak, Nick doesn't say. Instead he says, "I get it. What's in a name? I'll stop being a knob."

He's grateful for the look he gets from Cas: Irritation (he's watched them long enough he can read them). "Sorry," he says."

"I happen to think 'Father' is every bit as stuffy as Mr. Novak when referring to one's favored guardian," he says not looking at him, but trying not to smile.

Nick has to replay the words over in his head—did he just make a joke and agree with him?

"Favorite? How to do you figure? Dean's the pushover. Don't kids usually like the more lenient parent?" Nick knows from all the time he's spent watching families, that's not always true.

"Dean is far more charming and likeable than I am, but I'm going to be in charge of your allowance and you'll need my permission when you want to hang out with your friends on a Saturday night."

Nick doesn't have any friends, but he likes the thought. For a moment, he lives the fantasy that he does and has the feeling of anticipation at having to ask his _parent_ permission to go somewhere, with the possibility he might get a no. He imagines himself balking and complaining when he gets that no and gives the glare he already has when he's been scolded. He's committed to memory, each of the times he's been reprimanded since he's been here and replays each instance when he's alone. He thinks he's done a good job of acting like a 'normal' kid would. Some of the times, he wasn't acting. He felt how regular kids must when their parents scold them and was happy to have 'normal' feelings and to have reacted in a 'normal' way.

"I, I get an allowance?" Another fantasy, him receiving money for doing his weekly chores. Cas asking, "Did you finish everything young man? Even the leaves I asked you to rake?" It's fall in this one, he's made it here 'till fall at least. Of course he would have raked every leaf and stuffed them into garbage bags, or the compost if they have one (Nick hates when things are messy, how it makes him look and feel; he spent so much time in that dirty shithole. He tried to keep it clean, but when Michael had come and Lisa had stopped working, he had little time to clean) but he might say he hasn't, or even not do it this time, just to see what Cas would say. Other times, he'll do a perfect job and enjoy the praise he might get for a task well done.

"Of course," Cas says.

"For doing what?" Nick's giddy at the prospect.

"I'm not sure yet, we'll talk about it at the next family meeting, but it won't be anything more or less than what's usual for a boy your age. I promise you that."

Family meetings. Never did his wildest fantasies concoct Family meetings. He was thrilled and fascinated when Cas announced that they would have them. It felt like going to get ice cream and told you could have two scoops instead of the one you'd been hoping for. He asked as many questions as he thought might be safe. He didn't want to ruin his chances being adopted by coming off as annoying; he already had so many flaws and bad habits to rid himself of. "Don't you think I've done enough chores in my lifetime? Shouldn't that get me a free pass from here on out?" Nick wants to hear him say what he hopes he'll say, so bad.

"I do not. A boy your age should have responsibilities, but I agree you've done enough 'adulting' for the time being."

All of that is so perfect, Nick can't say the plucky response he had planned, which was that there may be a contest for favorite parent after all. Instead he dares, because things are so perfect in this moment and he can't resist living out one of his fantasies right now. There are still no guarantees and if this is all he ever gets, he wants to take this moment with him; he'll regret not making it as perfect as possible.

He pulls out memories, of one family in particular he used to watch, the Brevilles, who had a strong, sturdy patriarch. One boy, William, always talked about his father with more awe and reverence than any other boy or girl he knew. He'd got to meet the man once and he could see why William talked about him the way he did. Mr. Breville was always firm with William, but it was easy to see that William was the apple of his eye. Nick had the most daydreams of being in that family.

Castiel reminds him of Mr. Breville, but is already more than Mr. Breville. He noted what William called his father and thought if he ever did get a father like Mr. Breville, he'd like to call him what William did.

Nick can barely do it, so he closes his eyes and pictures himself in one of his family-fantasies, where he's a beloved son. Cas's words help enough to soothe him in a way he'd always dreamed, like he thought he'd never get in real life and he says what he always imagined he'd say back. It's something he's called Cas in his head many times already, as he watched them and inserted himself into their lives fictitiously, so once he's built the courage to say it, it slips off his tongue naturally and like it's the millionth time he's saying it. "Thank you, Papa."

He doesn't want to open his eyes. If that's not okay, he can't deal with the embarrassment, or the rejection. But he feels a familiar hand on his neck as he stands frozen in time. "See? I knew I was the favorite. Dean's going to be jealous I got a name first."

"That's, okay?"

"I love it."

"You were just, you were so adamant about 'Mr. Novak.'" That's still a bone of contention, but Cas puts him in his place without hesitation.

"I am not of the new fangled Hipster parenting faith. Children should not call adults by their first names," he says. Nick enjoys his strict tone. "Though certainly one should not call his parent Mr. Novak, especially not Dr. Novak if he knows what's good for him."

Nick relaxes and feels light.

"You should have something prepared for Dean, or he'll be insufferable."

Nick has something picked for Dean too. It's not original, but it's what he is and he's already used to it—same daydreams. He hopes Dean's okay with it—he's not calling Dean Daddy, unless it's to tease him. "You're not mad? You said we'd discuss it at the family meeting, I didn't listen."

Cas sighs. "I think today calls for extenuating circumstances, don't you?"

Nick is confused at first, as to why Cas would ask for his input on that (never mind let it go altogether), hasn't he been laying the groundwork for you're the child I'm the parent? But then Nick figures it out. He's not asking for input, so much as he's making sure Nick understands why he'd make any concessions and further that he doesn't make concessions lightly, therefore; this one is important. Nick nods. He longs for the kind of parent-child interactions where he can depend on a consequence if he fucks up, but he's glad Cas isn't going to punish him for this; Cas is right, it's too important.

"I feel like a broken record, with already having given this same lecture to Winchester not even twenty-four hours ago, but so we're all on the same page, this does not make me a pushover. We're all having a rough couple of days as we get sorted, this includes me; once we are sorted, I promise I'll have an easier time figuring out what you need. You needed this, Nicky. I realized how much after I said what I said and saw your face. I was going to talk to you anyway. I had the same idea. I was going to suggest, Papa. I've always wanted to be called Papa." He waits then, "Do you want to talk about it?"

Nick remembers what Dean said about Cas making everyone spill their guts and he believes him, but he really doesn't want to talk today. He doesn't want to feel vulnerable as he would, telling Cas how much having a real parent means to him. That to him at least, parents have special names like Mom and Dad and Papa. He knows that will lead to other questions and he's not ready for that today. "If I say no, will I get, will this be off?"

Cas takes the last dish from him, dries it and puts it away. He motions for Nick to follow him outside into the fresh air. "I can only imagine what you've gone through, Nicholas and if I have to tell you everyday that this thing," he gestures between them, "will never be off, I will. We're bound to do things that will upset each other, but no matter how upset we might get with one another, we're in this together."

Nick wants to believe that, wishes he could, can taste it with his being—the fantasies, daydreams he's always imagined, Cas and Dean are letting him live them out, but for how long? He nods anyway, but he doesn't fool Cas. "Okay, no talking today," Cas concedes. "Today is for other things."


	32. In His...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh. I hope this is a worthy ending! Like this whole story, much of this ending has been in my head the whole time, yet of course some things evolve as the story is written. It's meant to be somewhat humorous--though I know I have a very different style of humor than most. 
> 
> I'm not completely happy with some of the things from "Cas's book" in chapter 30, so FYI I may go back and rewrite those at some point. 
> 
> Thank you to all who have supported this story. I wish I could say I was an Island, but Mock needs love and support to keep going and you've all been so good to me in doing just that, so thank you. I'm a lucky girl. 
> 
> This is an "ending,-not-ending." I've got an epilogue, 90% written, which I hope to post tomorrow and I already have a Time Stamp written. AND, yes, there will be a sequel. Someone asked if Nicky would get a bit of a WW style story and my muse even has something for that. When it all will get written? Well, all I can say it IT WILL and if anyone's still out there listening, I'll post. ;) 
> 
> Thank you and as always, Love you all! 
> 
> Mock  
> xoxox

"It's not time yet Michael," Nick hisses.

"I wanna give the ring to Daddy!"

I interfere before they escalate. Tensions are still high. "C'mere you," I say lifting him to me. "What's going on?"

"I want to give you the ring," he says, pissed. Michael had a reasonable mid-morning nap, but I know what it's like when you don't get a proper night's sleep, no amount of napping quenches your body's thirst for sleep and you're fucking tired. I know this, because I feel the same way right now. And plus, it's a long time since the morning. It's late afternoon.

**

We were told to meet Sam at his office and I was disappointed to find out we were just signing a bunch of paperwork he'd already mostly filled out, except for the stuff he didn't know about Cas.

Poor Sam looked how I felt and I could guess why; he's been working his ass off for us, trying to work his way out of a legal straight jacket, to make the Nick adoption happened as fast as possible. On the one hand, Sam lives for this. Much as his body's taken a beating, he loves when he's got a case that overtakes him, challenges his lawyer muscles. This is not his typical case, but he's driven by it just the same; Sammy's always ready to do anything to help me. I have the best fucking brother and I was a fucking dick to him.

When I first walked up to his office door, I couldn't help feeling a little sheepish. Sam did bear witness (kinda) to my boyfriend spanking my ass, but mostly I was chagrined because of what I'd actually done. Here Sammy's helping me, has been helping me with everything to do with getting my family and I couldn't be honest with him where it counted. I know how that that makes him feel, like crap and I could see it on his face when we walked up.

"I'm sorry, Sammy," I said. I already apologized, but needed to again to his face. His eyes were apprehensive and looked me over in a way that reminded me of Dad. Sammy's a lot more like Dad than he'd like to be. Then he opened his arms.

"C'mere Dean, you big goof."

Even I have to admit it was a good hug. Cas brings his own special magic to the party to be sure, but sometimes, I need that Winchester energy and the solid feeling of my brother. Having his forgiveness in the flesh made me feel a fuckload better. Cas, the Prophet that he is, sent me in with Sammy alone, so we got to talk just him and me, before he had Cas come in to complete his part of the paperwork.

I was miffed we were just signing paperwork. How lame is that? I pictured walking down the isle, a minister, the whole thing; to find out we were just signing stuff that would "make us married" was a huge fucking let down. I was pissed.

"Remind me again, Sam, why do we have to do this now?" Cas should have a proper wedding with all the good stuff he wants.

"The court prefers to award children to couples not single men and women."

"That's some kind of 'ist', I'm sure of it. Cas is more than capable on his own—he's a doctor for Christ sake."

"I know, but Dean, we're already greasing a few wheels here, this needs to have as few "unfavorables" as possible. Are you really that opposed to marrying Cas?"

"No Sammy. That's the thing. I’m sure about Cas, I just, I wanna give him a good wedding. Signing this crap isn't what I had in mind."

I'm sure I sounded like an ungrateful dickhead, but Sam, my sappy brother, only saw the romance. "Look at you big brother. Never thought you'd be like this over someone."

I got uncomfortable with him staring at me like he's never seen me before. "Yeah, yeah. I loves Cas. Can we just, get on with this then? This is fucking stupid."

He laughed. "Now you're talking like your kid. I'm sorry Dean, I really thought you knew I meant this as a formality only. You didn't seem thrilled on the phone."

"Yeah 'cause who wants to get married like this?"

"Apparently, not you." Sam was amused; it was written clear on his face.

"Maybe this will cheer you up." Sam pulled a little black box out of his fancy, lawyer-suit coat pocket and handed it to me. As expected, there's a ring inside, which I'd never seen. It's a fucking nice ring though. Looks antique, but solid and well maintained.

"What's this Sammy?"

"That is Grandad Winchester's ring."

"What? But how?"

"Dad left it for you."

"Dad died when you were barely an adult, Sammy."

"Yeah and I know and he asked me to hang onto this for him. Maybe he knew somehow he wouldn't be the one to give it to you? I'm not sure, but about a year before he died, he told me to put this somewhere safe and that it was for you."

"I didn't even know he had this." I marveled at the ring, feeling like I was holding something sacred. Of course Sam's not even jealous I get it, just giddy as fuck he gets to give it to me.

"I've been excited about it for forever, but for awhile, it was looking like I was never going to be able to give it to you. So? Does that make you feel better?"

"Yeah, Sammy. A little, but, this sucks. I'm sorry. You've done so much for me, I feel like an ass for complaining, but this isn't enough."

"That you even feel like an ass for complaining is a sign you've met your special person. You know, I'm really proud of you Dean. I—don't get mad, but I really worry about you. As happy as I was when we found out about Michael, I was worried too Dean. I know what you're like, that you won't let me help you financially and I knew you'd let it kill you. Last night really meant a lot to me, big brother. Once again, you proved that there are still more ways to make yourself my hero. I'm always going to look up to you—no matter how much money I give you, or how many spankings Cas gives you."

I was so touched, I didn't even know what to say to that. So I continued with my list of demands. "And my special person deserves his special day." Maybe Cas wants to serve croissants and his special coffee at our wedding. Maybe he's always wanted to dress up like MacGyver. And doesn't he want to watch Michael carry this awesome ring down the isle, with Nicky as one of our best men? I'm sure Cas wants all of that and I thought he should get it.

"Dean, you and Cas can start planning a real wedding _today_ if you want. Once this is done, it doesn't matter. The ceremony is just semantics anyway—this is and I hate to sound so clinical, but this is what makes you 'married' anyway," he says meaning all the paperwork crap.

"Nothing changes that _today's_ the day we're actually doing this."

"Actually Dean, you have to apply for this stuff ahead of time anyway and—"

No amount of logic would sway me.

"Well there is something we can do," Sam finally said, but I could tell he was apprehensive about it. "But, you'd have to use your Dean charm on him."

Sam, the Batman of lawyers and also the lawyer that everyone seems to owe a favor to, was able to get our Marriage License "moved along" faster than the usual time, so he, Ellen and Jo could move onto the next part of Operation Adopt Nick. After that, we're married in the eyes of the law with all the "greasing" Sam's done and we didn't even _have_ to have the ceremony, unless we wanted to. He already had an officiant in mind to "say" they'd done a ceremony. Man, I _never_ want to get on Sam's bad side. With all the people he knows and what he's willing to do to get something done for someone he loves, well fuck; I'm glad he's my brother.

He really wasn't expecting me to actually want the wedding part of the marriage, but I fucking did. Hell, more than I even expected and I irrationally wanted it done today.

As it turned out, Gabe had been asked to Officiate a good friend's wedding only three months earlier. His "minister's license" he got online, was still valid. When we arrived back at Sam and Gabe's, (Gabe waited there with the kids) I pulled him aside. "So you were saying something about a Brat Pact?"

**

So yeah. That's how we got to here. Nick had to take Michael down the "isle" (the stone pathway to the gazebo in Sam and Gabe's front yard) because Michael has no interest in the wedding other than giving the ring to Daddy, not willing to wait for Gabe's speech. We were able to find a brown leather jacket, so Cas could be dressed like MacGyver (like _he_ wanted) and even a pair of cool sunglasses.

We asked Nick what music we should play, Cas and I both have an unspoken agreement to include him however we can. We couldn't get him to though, so Gabe piped in and chose the theme song from Miami Vice (courtesy of Gabe's iPhone), which made him laugh. I was surprised Nick even knew what that was. "My… Lisa watched reruns," he said and gave Michael a squeeze.

The idea was, Sam runs the music, then walks me down the isle to give me away (yeah, I'm the bride and don't care, can you see Cas as a bride at all?) then runs back to shut the music off (so we could have it attached to the house speakers), then run back to be my best man.

Nick's Cas's best man, but because Michael's our ring bearer (Michael and Ironman), he had to walk Michael down the "isle". But much of that went to Hell because Michael kept asking "What's we doin' Daddy?" and "We's can go to fix the cars Daddy?" and "Don't want to play this Daddy." So Nick had to carry him down the isle, away from me, cranky and crying over the music.

Sam decided it was better to carry the iPhone with us, no we wouldn't be able to use their house speakers, but he could turn it off easier. Matt and Logan are "groomsman," but want to stand with Sam if they can't stand with their Daddy. Apparently, they're tired too, Sam's been working on my stuff and Gabe kept them up too late, plus they're looking for the Papa time they've been missing out on.

"We are gathered here today," Gabe begins. "Because Dean's a closet sap."

"Okay, okay," I say. "Can we just get to the important part?"

"Why in such a hurry, Winchester? Don't you want to hear the declaration I have for you in this get-up you wanted me to wear?" Cas says. 

So it might not have been Cas's dream to be MacGuyver at his wedding. He looks fucking sexy though and I can't help smiling at him and pulling him in for a kiss.

"Hey, that's way out of order, dude. I'm the Officiate, I tell you when to kiss."

"But our kids are tired. Gabriel, if you would be kind enough to skip to the I dos," Cas says not taking his eyes off me.

Yeah, they're our kids that gives me good feelings.

"Yeah, yeah. Dean, do you take Cas to be your husband?"

"Yeah I do!"

"Cas, do you take Dean to be your husband even if he is the world's biggest brat?"

"Hey! Don't make me bring up whatever it is you said about pylons, Gabe."

"I do. Don't you have a ring for me Winchester?" Cas interrupts.

"Yeah," I say. "Michael give the ring to Cas. Gabe, weren't you supposed to ask me that before the I do?" He's the worst Officiate ever.

"No! It's mine, Daddy." Michael clutches the ring box to him.

He wants to give me the ring, he doesn't want to; three-year-olds. Jesus. Cas gives me a look that says he'll get it from him later, when Michael forgets about it and I have to accept that, or Michael will be screaming.

"Then with the power vested in me, in the form of fuel I got from the leftover submarine sandwich I had for second breakfast, I pronounce you Top and Brat—husband and husband," he winks. "Now you may kiss each other."

"Can I take off these ridiculous sunglasses now, Winchester?"

"No way, I want my MacGyver kiss."

And I get it. Of course Michael's in the middle of us, but Cas swoops in with a kiss worthy of MacGyver, which is ended with Michael whining, "Da-ahad-dy! I don't like this! Time to go home!"

We all laugh. Yeah, it's time to go home.

"Wait!" Sam says. "You need a first dance."

Nick, agreeing with Sam, takes Michael from me who's not happy about it, but is willing to go with his brother at the mention of candy. Sam runs over to the house with Gabe's iPhone to connect it to the speakers, clearly with a song in mind. When it blasts over the speakers, _of course_ is what I'm thinking and I smile big at Cas, singing along as best as I remember. "…Does he love me, I wanna know, how can I tell if he loves me so?..."

"You're the worst singer," Cas says, but he's laughing and he lets me pull him around in dancing-type motions.

"Quiet, Cas. I'm singing." I take his arms and put them around my neck, like he's holding onto me for once, following my lead, though I know where I want to be is always following his and spin him and make him laugh, 'till I know he thinks I'm ridiculous.

Sure, Cas and I will probably plan a "real" wedding and it'll be great, but this, _this_ is what I'll remember.

**

It's dinnertime, late dinnertime, by the time the new Winchesters reach home. Michael fell asleep in his car seat (the one he still hates), his sleep schedule will probably be extra fucked tonight, but it's already fucked, so we laid him on the couch where we're hoping the noise of us making dinner will wake him up before long.

I can tell we all feel good as we make dinner together, even if we are tired. The ceremony was a good idea, even if it mostly felt like we were playing a game of house, like the girls Sammy and I sometimes played with from next door made us do (they also moved away a long time ago with their parents, something we were glad for). There are still things that have to happen before Nick is "officially" ours, but he's ours as far as Cas and I are concerned and we're going to make sure he knows it.

"Husband? When do you think we should take our newest child and procure him some clothing, so he can ditch the other crap?"

Cas and Nick both roll their eyes at me, they know what I'm up to and fuck them both—they both like it. "As soon as possible of course, but _our newest child_ may not want to ditch his other crap," Cas says using air quotes around crap. "Nicholas, what would you like to do?" Like he's done it a thousand times, Cas runs a hand through Nick's longish brown hair and thinks a nice thought about him, that's also a worried thought, he doesn't say. I can tell because it's his concerned Darth Vader impression, the one I've already experienced enough times to know.

Nick lets him. Whenever I try to touch his hair, he's irritated. Probably because I'm usually trying to mess it up, while Cas is smoothing it in place, reminding me of a Mom who licks their thumb to remove ketchup from their kid's chin. "I-I'm not sure Papa, can you decide?"

 _Wait a minute, hold up._ "Papa? Papa! How come he gets a name and I don't? Oh, I'm just Dean to you am I?" I stir the stuff I'm putting together for the chicken marinade a little harder than needed.

Nick laughs at me. Cas says, "I told you he'd be upset." _Oh, so they've talked about it too?_

"Maybe I think of you as an older brother, _Dean_ , you act like you're a kid my age and get spanked like one. Ever think of that?" Nick says, hiding his face, but I can hear him smiling.

"I don't care how many times you've seen, or will see Cas spank my ass, you're coming into my care kiddo, I'm not your brother, or your friend, I'm your parent. End of story. Think I can't be like a parent? Ask Sammy." The relationship with Sam's always been an interesting blur. Half the time, Sam needs to remind me of what I taught him versus what Dad taught him, but I know I did teach him and took care of him and was more than just a big brother. All the while, there was still a sibling thread through and through. I helped raise him; will always feel the need to take care of him, but we're still brothers too. I don't feel any of the brothers bit with Nick. He's my kid, like Michael. Period.

Nick blushes. "You were the one who said I could call you Dean."

"Well that was a dumb thing to say. I was trying to be cool, but parents aren't cool." I know that now. "I take it back, you can't call me Dean anymore."

Cas is just barely keeping from laughing. "Sure, laugh it up, _Papa,_ " I say. They're having a good time, but my feelings are hurt. How come I'm not as special to Nick as Cas is?

"I wasn't planning on calling you Dean anymore, Dad."

My whole body gets warm and it's funny (this is going to sound crazy but bear with me) the warmth and tingles are similar to when Cas reminds me to behave, or warns me a spanking is eminent, or even spanks me. And I get something, really get something about the spanking thing I didn't before. Sure it's something that deters and reminds me to behave, makes me feel safe and loved, but it feels like its own unique kind of caring. Secret, deep caring, which yeah, is 'love' too, but it's something like love and different from love, like maybe it's love from another branch, a certain kind of love only some get to experience (after all, not everyone has kids, nor do they need to, but it can't be denied that the kind of love you feel to a kid is different from any other love out there, it's love and a unique brand of love).

When Nick calls me 'Dad' like that, it's a special feeling of caring, love that goes deep, right to the root of me, almost beyond love. Spanking and all the things associated with spanking (the warnings, the threats, the promises) do the same. Nick calling me Dad and spanking, are two different things, but they create the same stir of feelings in me and I feel lucky to get that in so many ways. To experience some unique branches of love I didn't know 'till Michael, Nick and Cas came into my life.

Fuck. Now I'm crying. I don't care that Nick's hands are full of the lettuce he's tearing up for our salad, I grab him and sob into his shoulder. "You were right Papa, I didn't need to worry about crying earlier. Dad's the biggest baby of us all."

"I can spank you too you know," I tell him, but refuse to let go. I'm not done crying. And he said it again. They both laugh at me and Cas finally pries me off of Nick.

"Enough of that Winchester," he says, but he pulls me into his arms and I enjoy Cas's calming energy. This was a big day; I'm starting to feel the enormity of it. "To answer your query Winchester, Nicholas, how about we start new? Keep your things for now, tomorrow, we'll go get you new things. It will also give you the night to think it over, perhaps there might be something you'd like to keep after all."

We're all interrupted by the slap of Michael's bare feet on the kitchen floor. He's got a sour look on his face, sucking his soother and dragging Ironman behind him. He surprises us all when he walks up to his brother instead of Daddy. "Nicky," he says, holding his arms and Ironman up; demanding to be picked up.

Nick grabs him up and rubs noses with him. I haven't seen them do that yet, but it's too familiar for me to think it's their first time. "What did you dream about Mikey? I hope they were good ones."

Michael's not interested in answering and his grouchy day, turns into a grouchy night, but it was nice seeing him want Nick like that. I hope it means he feels some amount of comfort that Daddy's here to stay.

When eight-thirty hits, Cas tells us all we're going to bed. "Before anyone complains," he looks specifically at me, "we've all had a crazy day and we could all use the sleep, including myself. Besides, we're all likely to be woken up in a few hours anyway."

No one can argue with Cas's logic, not with logic in return, anyway. Nick and I exchange a secret (not so secret, because I'm sure Cas sees) look and admit defeat. We're both pretty fucking tired. We move the rocking chair into Michael and Nick's room and I spend time giving Michael a bottle and rocking him to sleep, while Cas and Nick get ready for bed.

They creep into the room, Michael's out cold and Cas pulls the covers back. It wasn't really talked about, but we all know Michael will be sleeping with Nick and that none of us would approve of anything else, if Michael's going to sleep somewhere other than my and Cas's bed.

Nick slips into bed and I lay Michael beside him, who curls into Nick as if he can sense his brother there. I can't help thinking about how many nights they spent like that. _Fuck, stop thinking about shit like that Winchester. They're both here now, safe._

I can't help myself though and kiss them both on the forehead, fucking glad to have them with me and Cas. "If you need us for anything, don't hesitate, Nicky."

"We'll be fine," he whispers back.

"I don't care what you are, we're just down the hall," I hiss as stern as a whisper can be.

"That makes no sense."

"Never-the-less, Nicholas," Cas interjects, also quiet. "We're just down the hall." I make sense to Cas, must be a parent thing.

When everyone is tucked in, safe and sound, Cas and I head to the bedroom alone for the first time and for the first time as husband and husband (I don't care if the paperwork hasn't gone through yet, he's my husband, end of story). I pull out the ring I snuck away from Michael. "Cas, will you wear this?"

He smiles. "I already said I would."

"Yeah, but you're not," I point out.

He takes the ring box and opens it, looking it over. "It's a beautiful ring, Winchester. Are you sure you want me to have this? This is really special. We could always get something else, there's no rush."

"Cas," I say taking the box back and tugging the ring out. "You're really special to me, you're the only one I want to wear my special ring. Besides, I want everyone to see you're mine and you're taken." I slip the ring onto his finger and kiss him.

"I'm glad you understand, as I will be heading, straight away, to the nearest jeweler to have something crafted for you. I want everyone to see you're mine too, so they can stop hitting on you."

Poor Cas. Wedding rings don't always make you less likely to get hit on, sometimes more likely (in my playboy days, I hit on lots of men and women who had wedding rings) but I know well enough by now, not to say so to Cas. "Sure Cas, just take Nick with you, okay? I promised him a ring trip that never happened; he looked excited about it."

"We can go tomorrow and get him some things to get him started while we're at it."

"Sounds good and I have one more surprise." I asked Sam to do something else for me earlier, when we were alone in his office. "We didn't talk about it, probably this should have been a Family Meeting thing, but I felt like it was something I should do. I asked Sam, along with everything else he's doing for us, to make it so you can be Michael's Papa too, officially."

Cas is speechless. He's so quiet, I get worried. "Was that really not okay? I thought this was a foregone conclusion Cas. Are you mad?"

"Mad? Winchester, no. This is just… no it wasn't a foregone conclusion. We rushed into marriage for Nicholas. Sure we both wanted it, but we likely would have waited on that kind of union until much later. Me adopting Michael, that's quite a bit different."

"Is it? We already share one kid Cas. They should have the same parents no matter what. Not that I'm ever going to let us break up—"

"You were going to break up with me just yesterday morning."

"Not really. That was me being ridiculous. I already don't know what I'd do without you Cas. We're never breaking up, but even if by some freak thing we did, you're Nicky _and_ Michael's Papa. I want Michael to have another parent anyway and you're it. So buck up. You've got two kids now."

"You are on very thin ice, Winchester, too thin to be talking to me like that even if you are joking," he warns.

I get those strange happy tingles.

"But I will 'buck up.' I do not take such a responsibility lightly. Rest assured, I will always, forever make a good Papa for Michael. I won't let you down. Thank you Baby, this means a lot to me."

We kiss on it. "Okay, Cas. Should we hit the hay?" I've reached my sap quota for the year.

"Nice try, Winchester. There's still a bedtime spanking to hand out."

"Aw Cas. My ass can still feel that stupid paddle of yours."

"It is ill-advised to refer to my beloved paddle as 'stupid.' Come here."

"I already am here," I say as grouchy as Michael was today. "I don't want another spanking."

He stands me up and begins pulling down my sleep pants and boxers. He pulls me over his knees and much as I don't want to be spanked, there is an odd sort of comfort that happens when my stomach touches his thighs. "I get it. Don't lie and don't take rewards for something I shouldn't."

"Oh, I know that got through, Winchester and if it didn't, it will by the end of the week, I have an alternate motive for these spankings, I wish to share with you." Cas begins the spanking without further introduction. He's not as hard as usual, but I already feel it, since my ass cheeks are still tender. "What did I tell you to do, Winchester?" he says, stopping briefly.

"Ask Sam for help, w-with money."

Cas spanks some more. "And did you obey me?"

"No, sir."

"Why not?"

"Because I… you don't get it Cas. If Dad were here and he saw me taking money from Sammy… That's all I could think about."

He spanks some more and I have to close my eyes and grip his pant-leg. "I do get it, Dean. What I want to drive home for you, is that in this house, we worry about what I say. I gave you instructions, I expected and trusted you to follow them. You do as you are told, that's all you need worry about. Not about what your father would have said, not even about what Sam will think."

Cas thoroughly covers all spanked surface area then rubs for me. "Knowing what you know now, what do you think Sam thinks of you asking for help?"

I have to bite my cheek from saying something snarky. That would not be a smart move at this junction. And I know what Sam would think, he told me himself earlier. "He'd be, proud. He wishes I'd ask him for more help—I do though, sir."

Cas is still rubbing. "You do, with some things, lawyer things, under the guise of him owing you for law school, but Dean, you can just ask him, he wants you to ask him. Your attitude over this is a road to destruction and I'm not going to make it a secret, it's an attitude I hope to abolish. What would you have done if I hadn't been here to spank sense into you?"

I know the answer to that one. "Run myself into the ground, like Dad did. You're right Cas, I never would have asked. I would have stubbornly worked until I dropped of a heart attack." Like he did.

I can't see him, but I picture him nodding. He spanks a few more times and I have to kick a little, it fucking stings. "I make decisions for your benefit. This behavior is destructive and I care about you. I won't let you run yourself into the ground. It's that bit more than anything else that has me concerned for you. Sure you lied amongst other things, but I think in this, you've been doing it so long, you don't even realize what you're doing. This behavior will not be tolerated, ever, no matter the circumstances. To quote you, I'll be your spanking Jiminy Cricket, until you can make this distinction yourself. All you need worry about is following my directive. I expect to be obeyed, period. Is that clear?"

"It's clear, sir."

He doesn't spank for much longer, but fuck, am I happy when it's over and my pants are being pulled back up. It was a short spanking, but effective and I can't believe I have that to look forward to for the next six nights. I had planned on cajoling him into sex, but I know that's not going to happen (Cas is too strict for that) and I feel how disrespected he felt over this. This was a big deal to him, I seriously fucked up. I didn't stop to think about him, hell, I accepted that there would be spanking, but that's not the real meat of this thing. It's more than spanking. There's a trust between us, that I have _chosen to obey_ him, a thing that's a special pact between us. By disobeying him in the way that I did, not only do I make him worry for me, but I disregard that pact, like it's meaningless.

That's what those people in his book were saying. I get that now too.

He cuddles me close in the dark and I have to tell him. "Cas, I'm sorry. I really get it."

"That doesn't get you out of your bedtime spankings this week."

"I know. I wasn't trying to get out of anything."

"You were hoping a little," he smiles into my neck.

"Okay, maybe a little."

"I may suggest mitigation to my patients, but I am not prone to it often and not for this."

Fuck. I think… yeah, I wanted to hear that. I sink further into Cas. "Fuck I love you, Cas."

He laughs. "If that's what I get for telling you how rigid I am, I'll be sure to say something every day."

"You do that, Cas." I'm sure I'll regret that later, but right now I'm in the middle of post-spanking bliss.

**

Hours later, when there's only a little path of moonlight beaming over us, I feel a tug. "Dad?" It's Nick and he's got Michael, who's sucking his soother, fast asleep, his head on Nick's shoulder. Nick looks so thin, standing there, drowning in his pajamas (they're ones his idiot bio-Dad got him, but they were either bought too big, or he's already lost weight from not having food for however long he was living in parks and they don't fit him anymore, except for in length; the kid's gonna be tall) and a haunted, lost look in his eyes, I can't fucking ignore. My gut feels that dropped feeling, like it's trying to sink to my pelvis. Jesus. This kid. He breaks my fucking heart. "I know I'm supposed to sleep in my bed, but I can't… I can't fall asleep. I really tried." His voice is breaking.

He can't say it and he doesn't have to because I understand even if it's only a very little bit. Nick and I went through different things, we chose different solutions, but at the end of it, we crave the same thing. That he can come to us at all is good. I would have toughed it out, I'm so fucking glad he didn't. He's feeling anxious and's been laying there since we said goodnight to him. I look over to Cas who's asleep. He did say they should start getting used to sleeping in their own beds, that it would be good for them and he's right. It was his decision and I'm not going back on it, but I can go in and sit (thankfully that rocking chair is cushioned) for a bit 'till Nick falls asleep, or 'till Michael inevitably wakes up.

As I move to get up, Cas stirs. "Winchester, where are you…?" He looks to see Nick standing there with Michael; he must see what I see; he falls silent.

"Nick's having trouble sleeping," I say quietly standing from the bed. "I'm gonna go sit with them for a bit, 'till Nick can sleep."

"Nonsense, Winchester." We're all talking in voices we hope won't wake Michael. Cas pulls back the covers. "Everyone get in."

Nick doesn't waste time asking questions and walks on his knees onto the bed and in next to Cas, so he can maneuver with Michael in his arms, laying Michael down carefully and snuggling in himself. But my jaw is dropped. Wasn't Cas just talking about the things he says being obeyed and on and on and so forth? He can read my mind. "I said we'd _try_ Winchester and we'll keep _trying_ 'till we get it right. This doesn't have to happen overnight. It's a process."

Fucking process my ass. I cross my arms at him, but as usual, can't argue with the logic (he left that loophole on purpose though) and follow Nick into bed. "Wait, where's Ironman?" I realize before I'm all the way into bed.

"Get it later, Winchester. Michael's asleep anyway."

I'm already on my way out of the bed, since I'm pretty sure that's not an official "order". "I'll be right back."

"For the love of… no one in this house will ever sleep," Cas says, but he's not really mad; he's accepting that fact, 'cause I think that is a fact. Between Michael's nightmares and Nick's inability to fall asleep without thinking we'll disappear, sleep in the Winchester house is a fleeting idea, but I wouldn't change it.

I'm not long though and I return with Ironman. Michael _is_ asleep, it's not like he can hold it, or really needs Ironman right now. I don't know what inspires me to do so, but I give it to Nick. "Here ya go Nicky-Nick. Can't forget Ironman." 

He takes it from me, eyes wide, biting his lip like he can't believe it. Like I gave him magic, or something. "I won't forget, Dad," he says placing it between him and Michael. "I won't."

THE END


	33. EPILOGUE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This doesn't tie up in as neat of a bow as the last chapter did, but that's because it's like a mid-point in a road. From here, we can go backwards and forwards, which is what this is meant to do. While the epilogue time jumps six years, the sequel will begin not too long after the end of BDD, maybe 9-12 months after. But, this is yet another thing I've had planned from the beginning. I actually considered maybe making it a Time Stamp instead, but I promised an epilogue and I keep my promises! So here we are.
> 
> There is a lot I've left out about their lives you may (or may not) be wondering. But this was already so long. (!)
> 
> Also, as promised there is a Time Stamp. That one is about 60% done, so we'll have a little break, but it's a summertime Time Stamp, so I won't wait too long to finish. Now, at long last, time to return to, The Winchesters Series. Not sure if anyone else misses them, but I do. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this BDD marathon!

"You sure you don't want help with that, Nicky?" I ask. My brother's hard at work over his college applications. Dads are making him go.

"Like I need help from my kid, brother."

I'm working on something too, but I don't mind putting it aside to help him, I'm almost done. I'm smart. Dad says I get it from my uncle Sammy and I'm sure I do, some (apparently I look a lot like him) but my dad is pretty smart too. And Papa is a doctor. Even though we're not blood related, I'm sure I've learned things from him too. Nicky is smart too, but he'd rather have a social life than get good grades and he tends to procrastinate. "I know you don't need my help, but you'll get it done faster and then you can have your cell phone back faster."

"That was a dirty trick, taking my cell phone. In fact, I'm giving _Dr. Novak_ a piece of my mind."

"No you won't. Hell, I dare you just to call him Dr. Novak to his face." I give him my cocky smile, the one that's more like Dad. "I also heard he's gonna answer all your calls, Nicholas Winchester is away from his phone right now, because he's grounded. I won't be taking any names or numbers."

"He is not. I'm twenty-one. How can I even be grounded?"

I let it sink in a moment.

"Fuck. He would. He would fucking do it. Okay, help me—I changed your diapers."

I also know he kept me fed when no one else could. They don't tell the story to me like that, but I hear them talk when they think I'm not listening. "I'm the one offering douche nozzle."

"Don't _say_ that. Jesus Christ. You're gonna get me in trouble."

"More trouble than you're already in?"

"Just, help me."

We're deep into applications when there's a knock on our door. "Boys?" It's Papa. He's got a dishtowel slung over his shoulder. "Dinner. How are those applications coming, son?"

"I'm filling them out, now. See?" Nick says.

"Good job, Michael," Papa says, knowing I'm likely helping. "And Nicholas, you're a popular boy—you've already received several phone calls." Papa's eyes are laughing. He definitely answered.

"Didn't you have something to say about that, Nick?" I prompt. "Some kinda bone you had to pick with _Dr. Novak?_ "

"Oh?" Papa says with this serious eyes. Eyes that make Nick want to hide.

"Shut up," he says under his breath to me. "No bones to pick, Papa and why would I call you Dr. Novak? You've been Dr. Winchester a long time now."

It's true. We all became Winchesters some time around when Daddy and Papa got married. Dad and I already were, but we agreed during a family meeting that we would all be Winchesters. Dad still calls Papa Dr. Novak sometimes.

"Kids," Nick says rolling his eyes.

Papa scowls able to guess what went on. "Well time to take a break. Wash up. Downstairs in five."

Soon as the door is shut, I'm laughing and he's tackling me. "You're the worst," he says head locking me. He's still a lot bigger than I am, but I'm already growing. Dad thinks I'm going to be as tall as Uncle Sammy one day. I can't wait to kick Nick's ass.

When we're ready, we head down together, Dad's just coming in the door, his ball cap's on backwards. "You're late," Nick tells him.

"Late for what?"

"Dinner. We got the five minute warning five minutes ago and you still have to change and wash up," Nick informs him.

It's true. Daddy must have been working on the Impala. His coveralls are hanging and tied around his waist, his white cotton shirt and his face are striped with grease, there's a sheen of sweat.

"Dammit—stall him for me, be right back."

I look to my brother as Dad slides past us and up the stairs. "Do we go with giant squirrel, or angry raccoon?"

Nick shakes his head, carrying on to the kitchen. "I'm not getting in trouble on account of him."

He's all talk.

Soon as we walk through the kitchen doors, "Where's your dad?"

"Uh, there was this giant squirrel you see. Tell him, Mikey." Nick quickly sits down to keep his ass out of target range. I don't know why he thinks that would stop Papa. He'd just get him to stand up.

"Is this the same squirrel that fought the angry raccoon, knocking all of your dad's tools over and causing him to be late for dinner the other night?"

"You're not supposed to put the stories together, Papa," I say.

He smiles at me. "Sit down. I'll deal with Dad."

He's just setting plates in front of us, when Dad waltzes in the kitchen, his big goofy grin lighting the whole place up. He is cleaner, but still has a smudge of grease on his forehead, which Papa twists his lips at. "They tell you Cas?"

Papa grabs a cloth from the sink and starts cleaning Dad up with it, grabbing onto his chin, positioning him just so, and scrubs. "About the raccoon and the squirrel?"

"Yeah. We really gotta call animal control, or something."

Nick and I are trying not to laugh. When Papa's finished, Dad gets turned around and has to hang onto the counter while Papa lays three crisp smacks to his ass. "Ow!"

"You're three minutes late Winchester." He sends Dad off to the table rubbing his ass. "Behave, Winchester." 

It's harder not to laugh, so we do. "Sorry Dad, we tried," I say between giggles.

"Not hard enough."

"It's not their fault, Winchester. You need a new story."

Papa joins us and we begin eating.

"How the applications going, Nickster?"

Nick gets annoyed when Dad calls him Nickster, which is why he does it. "Good. Can I have my phone back yet?"

"Soon as they're done," Papa interjects. He's in charge of all that.

From the look on his face, I can tell exactly what Nick's thinking, _I'm twenty-one, a grown adult, this is ridiculous,_ but that doesn't matter in our house. Papa would take Dad's phone away and he has. Papa just spanked Daddy! So Nick keeps his trap shut, which is a good move. "I'll help you some more, Nicky," I promise him.

"What about your homework, my lad?" Papa asks.

"I'm mostly finished. Actually, I was wondering if I could read it to you Papa and you could tell me if it needs work?"

"Hey! What am I? Chopped liver?" Dad says.

"It's about you, Daddy." I call him that sometimes. "The surprise, remember?"

"Okay. Since it's a surprise, but when do I get to hear it? The anticipation is killing me."

"Next Thursday— _if my essay gets chosen._ "

"Oooh," he whines. "That's forever away."

I laugh. "You'll make it. Either way, I'll read it to you."

He pretends to be more anxious than he is. I mean, he is anxious, this is Dad I'm talking about. Anything to do with us kids he gets hyper about, but really, he's so damn proud and he wants to make sure I know it, so he makes an even _bigger_ deal than it is.

"Well I already read it, it's good," Nick says.

"Nicky! You weren't supposed to read that yet. It's not done." _Ass._

"When did you have time to read that, young man? You were supposed to be filling out college applications," Papa says displeased.

"I, uh, was taking a break. A squirrel came in my window you see and—"

Papa cuts him off with his, _do you need a spanking?_ look and he shuts up, but wisely adds before doing so, "I'll get them done by tonight, sir."

Dad laughs and scrubs the top of Nick's head, messing his hair. Nicky and Dad are almost the same height. Dad's slightly taller. Nick levels him with a glare as he tries to fix his hair. "I hope I get accepted upstate," he says. He doesn't mean that either. I know he's secretly hoping for the local college. In fact, it's why he's been procrastinating. He's worried he'll get accepted somewhere really good and really far away, because he knows Papa will want him to pick the best school and he can't stand not pleasing Papa. He has a thing about being away from all of us, but with stuff like this, he'll pick the thing he thinks Papa will want him to pick even though he's been told that where he goes is his choice.

I've been told, by Dad, that I have no choice but to go to Neuro-musical-lawyer-school, or something, wherever that is. I think he made it up. I tried to look for it. I can't find it anywhere on the internet. I just want to become a mechanic like my dad. I changed my first oil the other day, by myself, without any help. We all celebrated at the shop. I was proud of myself for that. Dad cried.

After dinner, Nick and I do the dishes while Dad goes back out to finish the Impala, Papa goes to hang out with him. I wash and rinse, he loads the dishwasher and dries and puts away what's not going in the dishwasher, like the bigger pots. I still don't get what the point of the dishwasher is, when we have to clean the dishes so well before putting them in, but complaining doesn't get you out of chores around here, so I just do it. Besides, there's something almost fun in doing a chore _with_ someone. Daddy says I'll look back on these times fondly someday. I dunno. I think that's just him trying to convince me this is fun. "He won't be upset if you pick here, Nicky. Stop getting yourself worked up and into trouble over this." Nick works himself into fits sometimes

"I don't want to go to school. This whole thing is stupid. I just want to work on cars."

We both do. We've talked about what we'll do with the shop someday when we take over—by 'we,' we mean us and Dad when Dad takes it over from Grampa Bobby in a few more years. We're stupid excited.

"So? You still can. You'll get accepted to KU and go there, work at the shop on the weekends."

"Even if I did, by some miracle, get permission to go there, there's no way in Hell either of our parents will let me work weekends. I'll be lucky to get to work on cars on downtime."

"Permission? You can go to wherever you want, Nicky. Papa said—"

"—I know what he said, all right? But you know as well as I do how disappointed he'll be if I don't take the better opportunity."

"He'll be more disappointed if you make yourself unhappy."

"There you go. It's the impossible fucking task, which is why I don't want to do it, so just shut up about it."

"Fine. You want me to shut up? I'll shut up." I love him, but he can be a dick sometimes when he gets frustrated.

"Don't be a douche. I meant about the school-thing. You can still talk to me, Mikey."

I refuse to open my lips and hand him another dish.

"I'm sorry. I was a dick. A huge veiny dick."

I can't help laughing. My brother has the dirtiest mouth. I'm pretty uncouth for a nine-year-old myself, but I know when to and when not to. It's a good self-preservation skill, one Dad and Nick don't have. "Okay, I'll talk to you again." As if I could not talk to him for long. I owe my brother everything. One day I'll write something nice for him. It was actually hard picking who I wanted to write my essay on. We had to pick someone who inspires us. My whole family inspires me, so I took a secret, not-so-secret, vote. I asked everyone in my family who I should write my essay on and everyone said Dad. Except for Dad. He said he'd rock, paper, scissor me for between Nicky and Papa.

Since the vote was so one-sided, I did Dad. He knows what I'm writing and why, but hasn't heard it. The three best essays will be picked and read at the thing my school is putting on for the parents; it's meant to showcase some of our work from the different grades. I've been working hard on it, so I'll get picked.

Both our heads turn when we hear the front door open and a verbal, "knock, knock. Surprise, it's us!"

"Uncle Sammy?" I say dropping the dish I was working on and hopping off the stool.

"Hey, get back here, we're not done," Nick says, but I'm gone.

I run to the entryway and jump to give Uncle Sammy a big hug, he's already got his big moose arms open for me. "Heya Pal!"

"Hey Uncle Sammy. My essay's pretty much done, will you take a look at it?"

"Hi Michael," Uncle Gabe says laughing at Uncle Sam and I as we start to talk essay stuffs and drifting off into our own world.

"Sorry, hi Uncle Gabe, Lo, Matty," I say as I drag Uncle Sam up to my room.

I sit on Nick's bed as Uncle Sam reads. We don't exactly have another room, to have our own rooms, so Nick and I still share a room, which is good for me. I still have the occasional nightmare and sneak into his bed. Even though I can, I don't like to bother Dad and Papa if I can help it.

"This is outstanding Michael. Your grammar is near perfect and your style is intriguing. I do have one suggestion though, that I think your dad will like. Something you don't know, or I think you would have already added it."

He tells me and I agree. It's a bit heartbreaking and kinda adult, but Uncle Sam's always had that kind of respect with me—he knows I'm mature enough to handle certain things and says I'm more mature than Dad half the time. "This is a very grown-up kind of essay, but your dad's gonna lose it. I'm going to bring my camera."

We head back downstairs and I feel bad when I see that Nick's finished our chore—always cleaning up after me; I hope someday he'll let me do something for him. He never does though. Sure he _let_ me help with his applications and other little things like that, but I mean something bigger.

Everyone's in the kitchen again, this time Dad's still in his coveralls and backwards hat. Uncle Gabe's serving up ice cream. "We brought dessert," he tells me. "Pick your own toppings."

"You let Sam read your essay too?" Dad says. "I'm feeling left out."

"You won't when you hear it," Uncle Sam tells him.

When we're done, Nick gets the boot. "Nicholas, upstairs please. You have work to finish." When it looks like he's going to complain Papa adds, "Don't think I'm letting you out of it just because there's company. You should have gotten them done when I asked." Nick's really on Papa's list. Nick led everyone to believe he applied way back in January, like Papa asked him to, but when no applications were returned, he was forced to fess up. Papa was not pleased to the power of a billion. I've never seen a look on his face like that; I don't know how Nick could stand it. He's been grounded ever since.

"Thanks for the dessert Uncle Sam, Uncle Gabe." He pushes away from the table and heads upstairs.

"May I be excused too, Papa? I said I'd help him."

He nods. "I suppose you'd better, or he might never get them done."

It's true. He's already been up there three days straight. Papa wasn't happy when he found out Nick hadn't even started them and told him he's cut off from all social function until he does (Papa had let him keep his phone and he hadn't been confined to our room). Papa was even less happy when each time he checked, Nick still hadn't done much.

Predictably, he's throwing a ball at the wall—what he does when he's thinking. His computer's open, but it's not even at an admin page. "C'mon Nicky."

"Here," he says reaching under his mattress. He hands me several opened envelopes. I look them over. All acceptance letters from colleges. "I did them January, when Papa asked me too."

"So you got spanked for nothing?"

"Not for nothing, kiddo. That's not how spanking works."

"But now you've lied to Papa."

"I'm hoping for the Double Jeopardy clause," he says smiling.

I frown because I don't know what that is.

"It means you can't get in trouble for the same thing twice."

"But these are two different things. First you lied about not doing them, then you lied about doing them, then I think not doing them again? Nicky!" I actually don't know what he'll be in trouble for, or won't be, just that he will be and Papa will figure it out; he always does.

"I… Oh snap, it is. Well, it still wasn't for nothing. Spankings are helpful sometimes, for other reasons," he says like he's some sage old man living on a mountain-top; I have to hold my eye-roll.

Spankings seem to be a different thing in my family. Different from other families. I've never had a spanking, a real spanking. I've been warned with them a couple of times and a swat here and there for getting lippy, but I've always heeded the warnings, unlike Nick. Nick's right when he tells me I'm a bit of a goody-good. I'm curious about them. "How did it help?"

"I felt overwhelmed. Papa really helped. The spanking calmed me—they're not always for punishment, though this one was punishment too."

"It didn't work enough to make you not do this."

"Some things take time," he winks and reminds me of Daddy.

He doesn't look bothered by that. "You're calm for a dead man walking. Dads are going to kill you."

"Naw, I'll live."

"What about applications to the schools we filled out earlier?"

"I only let you help me with the ones I'm not really planning on." That's a bit disappointing. My 'help' was fake help. "So? Which one should I go to? I've been trying to decide all week."

I smile. He'll probably pick where I say. I hop up on the bed with him and look through. "University of Toronto? You want to live in an Igloo?" I tease. I know it's just a stereotype, Uncle Gabe told me, but I still like thinking about that. It would be cool to live in an Igloo.

"And have my own sled dog team," he jokes. "It offered a good psychology program, and hey, it's ranked nineteenth."

I nod and keep looking. "Yale? You got into Yale?"

"I know, right? Yale sounds pretty cool."

He was also accepted to Stanford, The Californian Institute of Technology and Harvard just to name a few. I pick up the one from the University of Kansas. "You could stay here too."

"Yeah, I know."

"But you've been tearing yourself up. You should've asked me sooner."

"I know that too. So? Which one?"

I look and I think and I imagine what I might do. Only one solution comes to mind. "I think we should talk to Dads about this, but before that, tell me, if they didn't exist, where would you go?" Fuck. I'm so caught up in the situation at hand I said something stupid, _if they didn't exist, where would you go?_ I'm usually very careful not to say stuff like that. I know what it does to him. "Sorry, Nicky, I didn't mean—"

"S'okay. I know what you meant and really don't worry." He's almost convincing. "I think that just decided it for me. If it weren't for them existing I'd be nothing. I'll go wherever they tell me. They should decide. That's what I want."

"Nick—"

"C'mon, Mikey," he says pulling me up. "Let's go tell them."

**

Sam and Gabe didn't stay long after the boys headed upstairs. They had stuff to do and they just wanted to stop by for a quick dessert. They're spontaneous like that. Ever since they began being like Cas and I, it's like it's a whole new them. Sure there were road bumps and sure they had a good marriage before, some would even say great, but the DD brought them alive, made them appreciate one another more. Sabriel 2.0.

Right now, I'm appreciating Cas's hand on my ass, or maybe not appreciating it; it's sometimes hard to say. "Ow, Cas! Ow! What if the boys come downstairs?" I'm ass over tea kettle, kinda, or actually just ass up over Cas's lap. I don't know why I bother asking—he's not the one who cares about that.

"Then they'll get to see your have your naughty bottom spanked."

"It was three minutes, Cas."

"You know that's not why I'm spanking you. You know the rule you broke."

Yeah, I do. "Okay, okay. I didn't go to bed when you told me to, but do we have to take care of this now?" My ass is severely stinging. I'm already squirming. He was away at some book convention thingy over a week ago. He gave me rules to follow. I may have broke a couple of them, but I really didn't mean to; it always happens when he's not here to be him. So far, he's found out about this one and we haven't had time to take care of it.

"For the record, I was planning to wait until bedtime. You're the one who decided to goad me by taking your time with your car. The squirrel-raccoon story, Winchester? That's as good as sending me a signed invitation."

Cas has taken it upon himself to translate any story including vermin into, _I'm asking for a spanking._ "You spanked me for being late."

"I did, though I would hardly call three swats to your ass a spanking. _This_ is a spanking and _this_ is for rule breaking."

He's thorough, as usual. I fight him a little, something we've learned I like and he's okay with to a point, but not too much. He alternates cheeks, five spanks at a time, 'till my ass is searing and I'm seriously squirming and also trying not to _really_ squirm at the same time. Tears are running down my face and I'm regretting my decision to fuck off to the bar with Benny and stay out well past the bedtime that I myself set and asked him to hold me accountable to. I know right? Why do I do that? It's hard to explain. But there's this something in me, this part that's really tiny, a lot smaller than it ever was, yet still present even after all this time that wants to "see" if he'll _really_ follow through—then I regret not just looking over every past event. Cas always follows through.

Why did I break the rule I wanted anyway? The saying, 'It seemed like a good idea at the time,' always comes to mind first for me. The other way of looking at it, it's like being on a diet. You know you're not supposed to have chocolate cake on your diet, but you do anyway—even though you made the rule for yourself to not have the cake in the first place, you've broken it just the same.

Most people say 'oh well' and try again, but I do better, feel more secure when I've got someone else to give me a consequence. To be honest, I think most people would, maybe spanking's not the thing they learn from, but some kind of consequence…a fifty dollar bill to a charity you don't like? Apologizing when you don't want to? Not letting yourself watch T.V. 'till you get your work done?

For me, it's this, what Cas and I do, that works and it's more than just consequences too. It's something physical to break my pattern and calm me; keep me from breaking rules. It's nice to have that, even when I'm just having a bad day. A few swats, or even a quick spanking to break me out of a funk.

I also know how much Cas likes open defiance, which is what he'll view this as. "I didn't mean to, Cas. Sir," I add at a particularly hard swat. "Ow!"

Suddenly, his favorite hairbrush is there, the one that always seems to materialize out of nowhere. He's rubbing it in circles on my tender backside. "I know you really think you should use that Cas, but, Ouch!" He's not having any of it. I give up and accept, to at least spare myself the "Rules of this House are for a Reason Winchester" lecture.

Cas lets me up and adjusts my clothes for me. I'm no longer wearing my coveralls, or hat, it's just me and my scratchy jeans. I wipe at my eyes, enjoying the sensations physically; the ache in my ass, the exhaustion of crying. He presses a kiss to my lips. "Don't give me those eyes. You deserved that."

Even that, _that_ keeps the feeling, the unexplainable, always just out of reach feeling I get from all of this—the magic we've created together, also known as our domestic discipline relationship. "Thank you, sir."

"Good boy."

He finds me a dish towel and wets it with warm water, helping me wipe my face, as I stare at him dreamily, feeling floaty. "Don't think I don't know you broke other rules. When I find out what they are Winchester, I'm sure I'll have reason to employ my paddle."

I hate that thing. "I admit to nothing." Though I probably will, if history is anything to go by.

I'm pulling out a couple beers as the boys are entering the kitchen. Thank god their room isn't anywhere near the kitchen. They look serious. Michael more so than Nick. Fuck. What did Nick do now? Cas's spanking hand is going to need ice after this. "Um, we need to talk to you both," Nick says.

"What's up guys?"

"Can we sit down? Please?" Nick says.

Cas looks at me worried and I've got nothing for him—I'm trying not to freak. We all sit and Nick dumps a bunch of envelopes on the table. Right away, Cas's eyes set to stun. " _Nicholas._ " Cas does his imitation of Dave from Alvin and the Chipmunks, then immediately does himself with the crossed arms thing he does that's really fucking scary.

"I know. Just, let me explain?"

Cas can't. He just can't and I know why. Ever since Michael and Nick walked into our lives (also around the time we walked into each other's lives) we've loved them, unbearably. Sometimes that means our emotions take over and we react, even if we're normally a perfect, cool as a cucumber, head of house who rationally makes decisions. "U of T, Stanford, Harvard, _Yale!_ " Cas's voice rises to a full on screech.

"Why does everyone freak about Yale? It doesn't even rate as high as Harvard. Stanford's number three—" Nick's cut off by Cas's Death Star glare. He can't look Cas in the eyes anymore, he stares at his hands, clasped in front of him.

"You hid this from us?" Cas is hurt. "Why Nicholas? Why?"

"I'm sorry." Nick's face is red, a sure tale sign he's going to cry.

"He's having trouble telling you because he doesn't want disappoint you guys, Papa," Michael jumps to his defense. He's a lot like me that way.

Nick doesn't like being defended by his kid brother, which is also a lot like me that way. "Give it a rest, Mikey, this is my conversation."

While they bicker, I can see Cas visibly calming himself down. I put a hand on his forearm. He puts his hand over it. "Knock it off you two." That's me. They shut up. "Nick, you wanna tell us what's been going on?"

"I can't."

"Just try your best. Safe place, remember?"

"Yeah, I'll try." He heaves a big breath. "I filled out all the applications to the schools we discussed in January."

"Clearly," Cas says.

"I really didn't think I'd get accepted to anywhere but the lower ranking schools, like, like Kansas U. I waited and thought I'd surprise you if I got accepted. When the mail started coming in, I got overwhelmed and when I got accepted to some of the other schools, I knew you'd want me to go to those ones."

"We were clear that you would choose the school you wanted, son," Cas says. I know as soon as he's said it, he knows that "therein lies the problem." We want Nick to make more decisions, but he has a hard time. He knows he can always come to us, but that doesn't always mean he does, not before doing something like this. _Oh, Nicky._

"But you were so excited about Harvard because it's your Alma Matter, I knew you'd want me to go there. Though now I'm seriously starting to think Yale."

"No Nicholas. I mean, it would be exciting for me to have a son go to my Alma Matter, yes, but I'm pleased if you're happy. I thought we were clear on that?"

"You were, but I still thought, well it doesn't matter what I thought, the point is, I didn't want to go away. I feel jipped. I finally get a family and I only get six years with them?"

There's that too of course. Nick clings to us. He's been able to build a busy social life (to the deficit of his schoolwork at times) but, paradoxically, he's dependent on us, Cas sometimes thinks too much. With as many friends as he's had, you would think he'd also have several girlfriends, or boyfriends, but far as we know, there have only been a few instances where he's even liked anyone romantically.

"Silly boy. No matter where you go, you're always our family, son," Cas says.

Nick looks like he's about to break. Cas notices and is up and out of his chair, pulling Nick to him. Nick's tall. He's somewhere in between shorter than me and taller than Cas, but I'm taller than Cas, and some, and it's never stopped Cas from manhandling me. He's fucking strong. Michael can't help himself and crawls into my lap. He's tall like Sammy and nine, but I'm still fortunate enough to get the odd cuddle from him.

Nick let's go and cries. "I'm sorry, Papa."

"It's okay my boy. I just wish you'd told us sooner. This is amazing you know? That's a lot of schools. We should celebrate that alone."

He pulls away and swipes his eyes. "Which one?"

That's all he's concerned with and I can understand. Having this decision to make's probably been driving him nuts. He just wants it made and over with. I've been there many times. His next words don't surprise me. "I know you said I could pick. I appreciate that, but I'd be happiest if you picked. I don't want to pick. Please don't make me pick too."

I can see Cas warring with himself. There's a certain amount of decision making one has to learn to do and he's always been very good about helping Nick make decisions he'd rather not. Watching Nick's been interesting. He had to make all the decisions for him and his brother once upon a time and before that, for him and his mama; he was an adult before his time. When he came to live with us, after some therapy and time adjusting, he didn't want to make any big decisions.

Cas allowed it for the most part, but he gradually (using his awesome psych skills which he also goes to conferences for still) walked Nick through decision making. There are still times, like now, when his eyes get that broken far away look and he really can't make the decision, not to mention, he pulls crap like this that makes us both want to throttle him. "Let's all decide together. As a family," Cas says. "It's not Sunday, but I'm calling an emergency family meeting. Everyone please be seated. Michael will you take minutes?"

"Sure, Papa," Michael says running to grab the Family Log. Our kid's so dorky. He loves being the minute taker.

Everyone takes their seat and we begin. I decide to step in as Chair, since Nick's a little speechless right now. "An important member of our family has been accepted to every school under the sun because he's so damn smart. Problem is, he doesn't know where to go because he wants to stay here with us and he also wants to get the best education afforded to him—also because of us. Is that right, son?"

"Yes, Dad," he says like he's put upon, but he likes when I call him son, so I do lots, even when it's inessential.

"Also, let it be stated in the minutes that Nick is family no matter where he goes to school."

"It's not a court room, Dad," Nick says complete with eye roll.

"You got that down Michael?" I say anyway.

Michael giggles. "Yeah, Dad."

"Good job, my lad," Cas says. We all think that should be written down.

"We'll go around the table and get everyone's opinion. I'll start. I selfishly want Nick to stay right here in Lawrence, for Cas I want him to go to Harvard, but for him I want him to go to Cali Tech since it's the number one school in the world and he can get his mechanic's license there if he wants." He's looking at me shocked. "Yeah, I know stuff. One of my sons is going to school, I make it my business." I got Sam to look into it for me.

"So a vote for Cali Tech Dad?" Michael asks.

"Wait, I'm not done. If he does decide the psychology thing, then I say I'm fine with either Harvard or KU they're both good schools. The stipulations for him going anywhere though, are thus; he comes home every holiday and between each semester." I wait to let Michael jot all of that down. I watch Nick's whole physiology change—he relaxes.

"Got it, Dad. Can I go next?"

I nod.

"Even though Cali tech is the best, I know that 'cause I was there when Uncle Sammy told, Daddy."

Rat. Nick snickers.

"I argue he could get an equal education as a mechanic here when we combine what he's learned from Dad and Grampa Bobby. But for the psych thing, I pick here in Lawrence. It's true I don't want him to go away, but my decision is weighted toward KU because I think he'd do better in school with us around him and Papa to take away his phone when his social life gets in the way."

"Oooh! Points to Michael," I say. What can I say? The kid's smarter than me. I'm more than okay with that.

We wait while he jots down his notes. "Nick, what are your thoughts?" I ask.

"I agree with Michael on the mechanic thing. It's what I want to do anyway and I know we've already discussed this and the topic is closed and that it was decided going to post-secondary school is good life experience, I'm not arguing that and I'm actually more open to it now than I was before. I just want to add that if I am going to go to a school, I'd prefer it be based on the psych degree."

We wait for Michael to jot that down. "Anything else?"

"Yeah," he groans. "I can't _believe_ I'm going to say this, but Michael's right. I'll goof off. As much as one of my fears is losing my family," he says, his voice breaking. "I'm also afraid of losing the structure. I like this structure, it makes me feel safe and loved." He looks at all of us individually. "If it's decided I go away for school, can we please find a way to keep that?"

None of us say a word, but we've all said yes in our minds strong enough, it's like we could all hear each other. Sometimes it's hard to decide who's more heartbreaking, Nick or Michael. Nick remembers a lot more than Michael does, but I know Michael still has nightmares. I know he has a few memories and in general, the experience they went through has left an impression, a feeling that neither of them forget; it haunts them and shows up in the oddest of ways. Sometimes it's something Michael says, or the far away look Nick gets; it's very there and very part of them. When it happens, we can all feel it. Like now.

We all look at Cas helplessly. Fuck. It's moments like these I'm glad I'm not the Head of House. I don't want to make this decision either. I'd much rather it fall to Cas. "Let it be stated in the minutes that I am extremely proud of Nicholas right now," Cas says, saving the day; the superhero we expect.

"Papa," he complains. "This is the last time some besides me chairs this meeting. You guys are doing it wrong."

"I'm allowed to say nice things in the minutes about my son if I want to. You got that Michael?" Cas says.

"Got it, sir."

"As I was saying, I'm proud of Nicholas for recognizing what he needs, what he's scared of and asking for help. If it's decided he will go away to school, the suggestions are that he come home holidays and between semesters, that a structured plan is in place for him, with consequences. I would like to add that he must still attend family meetings unless he has an approved excuse, such as illness or something school-related and that he attend via Skype or some other application where we can see him."

Cas pauses, so Michael can get all that in note form. Michael likes to type it all up later in a document he's got on his computer.

"We will also visit him at times in which it will not interfere too much with his schooling. Does this make you feel more comfortable with whatever is decided?"

"Yes, sir," Nick says. He's still nervous as fuck.

"Before I give my answer, I want to give my personal thoughts. I can't lie. Selfishly, I'd like to see you with a psych degree on the wall from Harvard like me. But that's just a piece of paper son. And while yes the topic of you _going_ to school is closed, because you are; the exercise was intended as a life exercise and your 'just in case,' Dad and I are firm on you going. But it doesn't matter where you get the degree from. Any of these schools will suffice."

"Anything else, Papa?" Michael asks when he's done taking notes.

"No."

"Anything else you'd like to say, Nick, before Papa decides?" I ask him.

"Just if we could please sort this out tonight. It's been driving me mental."

"All right then," Cas says. "I have listened to everyone and I feel I have come to the best decision for Nicholas."

Often, the decision is based on what's best for the family, but in some cases, it has to be based on what's best for an individual. In this case, it's what's best for Nicholas, we all understand that. Sometimes, Cas will take days, even weeks to deliberate over something, but not tonight.

"Once I make my statement, it's final. You still sure you want me to make this decision, Nicky? It was given to you first."

"I do. Please, sir."

"You will go to KU."

"Yes!" Michael says.

"I'm not finished. You will go to KU, but you will live on campus. You will come home for weekends and holidays and between semesters. I will make sure there is structure in place. We can renegotiate that structure annually, until you decide you'd like to move out, which will also be discussed." Nick looks queasy at the thought of moving out, completely. "Don't worry about that for now, Nicky. You can live here as long as you like after college, understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"Mark this discussion as closed, please my lad."

"Yes, Papa," Michael says.

Any tension that was in Nick is gone. He closes his eyes then opens them again. "Thank you, Papa," he says.

"Man that was stressful," I say. "Michael, you know it's already been decided that you're going to Neurosurgery music school, right? With a minor in Law?"

"Yeah, Daddy."

"Write that down."

"I can't. Papa already closed the discussion."

"Cas?"

"I think deciding one child's future is more than enough for one night."

"Whatever. I've been banking on that since he was three. Your future's decided big guy."

"I know Dad. I'll go to that school if you want, but can you help me find it online? I want to see what it looks like."

"We should celebrate," Cas says. "Tomorrow night all of us, including the other Winchester clan will go to Glowbal for dinner."

That's the fanciest place in town. "On it. I'll text Gabe and tell him to get us reservations."

"Perfect. Which means there's only one thing left to do," Cas says. "Excuse us. Come with me, Nicholas."

"What?" he says, 'cause he knows what that 'come with me Nicholas,' means when said in that tone of voice. We all do.

"I'll get the ice, Cas. For your hand."

"I was already punished. Isn't there a Double Jeopardy clause?"

"I know what that means, Papa," Michael says.

"And so do I, which means I know that you were most certainly not punished for deceiving the entire family, Nicholas."

"I was punished for not sending the applications, but I did."

"Consider that your punishment for lying."

"I've been grounded for forever for no reason."

"For continuing to lie. You should have come to us when you were overwhelmed. You could have gotten out of being grounded at any time. March, upstairs."

"I've changed my mind. I want to go to Canada, starting now."

"One."

"I'm going. I'm going."

Nick scampers up the stairs and Cas heads after him. Michael's touching up his notes. Guess we miss the cheer this time, but we do it often enough. "Aren't you worried your brother's going to die?"

"Naw. Spanking is helpful."

"It is? How would you know? You've never been spanked." Not really. Maybe a swat here and there, but not a real spanking. I doubt if he even remembers.

"Nick explained it to me."

"He did?"

"Yeah."

"But, but, it hurts!"

"Only for a little time. He deserves it. I might spank him myself if he ever does something like this again."

Huh. He's more like Sammy than I thought. It's hard not to laugh, 'cause he looks so damn cute. "Well Mister Minutes Taker, I think it's time you start getting ready for bed."

"Can I have a shower?"

I remember how much he used to hate showers, now he likes them. It makes him feel grown up. "Yeah."

"And I can still go over my essay with Papa?"

"You know who's the expert on me? Me."

He giggles. "Nice try Dad."

"Yeah, I'm sure he'll go over it with you."

**

"Why are you receiving this spanking, Nicholas?"

"Lying. Dishonesty. Disobedience. Cleverness?"

I give his bare bottom a hefty whack. "As much as I do not want to give your Double Jeopardy Clause weight, you were already spanked for lying, albeit the 'wrong' lie—though lying is lying, I hope you understand. I spanked you and grounded you for your disobedience, not sending in the applications, which I now realize was part of your deception—and still disobedience from where I sit. And believe me, I am going to punish you for your continued string of lying, dishonesty and disobedience, but this spanking is for something far beyond any of that. How about we get to work and you tell me what comes to mind?"

It's a rhetorical question, he groans. I spank. There are nothing but the sounds of slaps for a while and a squirming, kicking young man over my lap. I know he knows what I'm looking for; he's being stubborn. I pause when I hear sniffles. "Anything coming to mind?"

"Nothing."

"Fine, Nicholas. In that corner while I retrieve my hairbrush."

"No, wait! I mean, something's come to mind, sir."

That sentence is always particularly inspirational with both Nicholas and Winchester. "I'm waiting." I don't let him up. He knows well that if he wants to wait this long and wind himself up, we have this conversation over my knee, instead of face-to-face as he'd prefer.

"I should have come to you. I know. I really did intend on a surprise, but it all fell apart when I got so many responses."

School has been tough for our Nicky. He was so behind with all he missed that it was a combo of public school, extra classes, home school and summer school to get him caught up. But he's quite smart (more so than he gives himself credit for) and he managed to get it all done faster than expected. We let him have a year off before we forced him, kicking and complaining to apply for college.

I begin spanking him again. "That's right, young man. I know you get overwhelmed. When you do what's the rule?"

"But I wanted to—"

"What's the rule?"

"Drop everything, come to you or Dad. But I did!"

" _After_ you spent how long stressing over this?"

"Almost two months."

"Was there anything unclear about my directive on this matter?"

"No, sir."

"I appreciate and commend you for finally coming to us, I really do Nicholas, but that's far too late. It's that behavior that gets you into trouble. I won't have it. Am I understood?"

"Yes, sir."

He's nodding into my pant-leg by this point. This has been the hardest thing for us to work on. He has gotten better, but we still work on this. He both does and doesn't want to make decisions and it freezes him in place. We still have to talk him through the process; he feels incapable and hates that he has, as he phrases it, seems to have become incapable, but often gives up, begging me to just decide for him.

I finish up then pull him to me. "It's okay. You're okay now, Nicky," I tell him, rocking him. He's twenty-one now; an adult. He's brilliant. Kind. Loving. Mouthy. Funny. He's got an Earthy wisdom, I've trusted him a long time now to take care of Michael and yet when it comes to Nick himself, he's like a little chick I want to protect. Pieces of him have healed, but others have yet to. I love him so much.

"I didn't mean to disappoint y-you, sir."

"You haven't. I'm very proud. You knew I would spank you."

"Yeah, I knew."

"You also know how this works. Did I not spank you long enough?"

"Believe me, you did. I just had to say it."

"Well you're forgiven, but I've got my eye on you—you're still grounded until I deem this has passed." Sometimes one spanking, or even the spanking itself is not enough.

He sniffles as he nods into me and I rock him some more. I feel he was "gipped," too. He should have gotten more of a childhood with adults who loved and looked after him. My only regret is we didn't get the boys sooner. I wipe his face with my hand. "Papa, I'm not a kid anymore," he says since apparently I've undignified him in some way. I'm glad for the reaction though. We part and he starts wiping his own face.

"You'll always be my kid even when you're forty. Now, climb into bed."

"Bed? Michael's not even in bed yet."

"Michael didn't—"

"—deceive the whole family. I did that."

I get up, so he can get under the covers. I already had him brush his teeth and put pajamas on. "You know, you'll get your own room in college."

"Yeah, but I don't really mind sharing with, Mikey. We used to sleep on a floor huddled together. This is still improvement."

"Yes, I remember you telling us." I don't like hearing it, but I need to. If they went through it, the least I can do is hear it, even if I can't go back in time to save them.

"I act like a dick sometimes and do stupid things, but I'm really grateful you guys took over. I couldn't do it anymore."

"You know I don't like you saying those things about yourself." I brush the hair off his face. I'm worried about him. "I want you to start seeing Jelena twice a week again." He stills sees her once a week, but him going to college has opened his worries anew.

"I…yeah, Papa."

That one's not a difficult idea for him, he likes Jelena. "You'll feel better in the morning."

"Is that when I'll get my cell phone back?"

"After breakfast."

"Did you really answer my phone like Michael said you did?"

"Indubitably. I was not pleased."

"Aw man, I'm gonna have to do a ton of damage control."

"I am sure your social life will recover."

**

Everyone said they weren't surprised that my essay was chosen, but I was. There were a lot of good essays. We had to read them out to the class. I did get a couple of laughs from mine for parts people thought were funny, but there was mostly an eerie silence and I think my teacher was crying. I was shocked to death when she said I was one of the chosen three.

I'm about to go on stage, there are so many parents in the crowd. Nicky might get anxious in other situations, but he's good at this. Daddy and Papa convinced him to join a local improv club and he's even done some theatre class for fun. He keeps saying I should try it. Maybe I will after this. I'm nervous. Dad told me to picture everyone in their underwear, but that's not working. Papa said to just look at the family, but that's making me just as anxious. Nick said, "When you feel scared and nervous, good. Everyone gets that before they go on stage, Mikey. Know that it's normal; means you're like everyone else. Use it."

Somehow that helped the most. I think of that now and step up to the podium, and read.

"My Dad and Inspiration, Dean Winchester. 

I'm a lucky kid with many people in my life to inspire me, but today, I'm going to tell you about the person who brings a specific kind of inspiration into my life and that's my dad, Dean Winchester. He became a Dad when he wasn't planning on it, twice even; he's taught me about being brave and that love and family are the most important things.

When I was really little, my mom died so I went to live with my dad. He wasn't a Dad back then. Uncle Sammy says, he liked to play with too many friends that he maybe didn't even want kids! I think that's crazy, because he's such a good Dad, you'd think he always was one—Uncle Sammy also says he thinks he had practice at it, because Dad helped him when he was growing up too. That's one of the main reasons I wrote this about him and why he inspires me: He wasn't planning on having a kid, but when he found out I was alive, without another thought, he became my dad and loved me and I never noticed he didn't want kids, because he always wants me.

When they (Dad and Papa) found out about my brother, Nicky, they just adopted him too! You should see Dad with him—he's really great, you'd never know Nicky was adopted. Not to mention, I wasn't easy to hang around with, either. I cried and cried and never let my dad sleep, but if he minds he's never said so to me and I know I was expensive. I have heard him say that, but not complaining, just so I know life isn't free for when I'm a grown-up, which is a good lesson too I think. I'm just glad he is who he is and decided to be my dad. I know what it's like to have to change your plans. Like when we were supposed to go to Disneyland, but then I broke my leg and we had to go the next summer instead. I don't know what it's like to have a person come live with you, one you never expected, but I know that's got to be difficult.

Dad does tell me all the time how he's scared out of his mind. Will there be enough money to send me to college? Will the world run out of food? Will our house suddenly fall down? Papa tells him how silly he is for being such a worry-wart. I know to just laugh at him when he says those things, but where I think he's really brave, where most of his courage comes from is that he always believes things can be fixed, even the hard things. He had a rough time growing up, it sounded scary, Nick and I had a hard time too growing up. Since he's had so many scary times, I reasoned that if he worries about Papa's coffee shop running out of croissants, he must have a thousand other worries that aren't silly ones, yet faces them everyday and helps make so many people better while he faces them. That takes unbelievable courage.

When I first came to live with my dad, I wouldn't even let Uncle Sammy babysit me. Dad and Papa worked out a system, but it didn't leave us much time to spend together. He didn't like that, so he took some time off from work (Grampa Bobby told him he was a mutton-head for not taking time sooner, Uncle Gabe told me that) and hung out with me, since I was still sad about my mom. I really think that's what helped me heal a lot. I was too little to say for sure, but I think so. It must have been hard for my dad, because he likes to fix cars a lot. I know I wouldn't like to give up fixing cars, even for a short time. He did it anyway though, for me, because family is more important than anything else. He's shown me this more times, but I think that's the best example, because next to his family, Dad likes cars the best, to give that up was a big deal. I'm sure he'd do it again for his family.

So you have this guy, who lived on his own and was happily living his life then you trounce all over him with kids and he just loves them; gives up everything he knew before and loves them. That's why my dad inspires me. There's something special about my dad that everyone sees (Papa would like them to see it less, he said, but I'm not sure what that means). He knows everything there is to know about being a dad; bravery, love and family and if I can be like him doing those things, I'm bound to keep having a great life."

There are several terrifying seconds where no one's doing anything, but I think I hear sniffles. Then Nicky saves the day, by standing up and clapping, everyone following suit. I run off stage. That was horrible. Was my essay that bad? They should have picked someone else.

I plan on running home—maybe that will earn me my first spanking, but I don't care. I need to be out of here. I crumple up my essay and chuck it in the trash bin, while I'm looking frantically for the exit. As the next kid goes on stage is when I see him and feel relief I don't think I can describe. "Daddy, I'm sorry." I run to him and he throws his arms around me as I hide into him. "Can you take me home?"

He pulls me off to the side, where it's quiet. "Hey? Just what are you apologizing for?"

"I ruined it. I swear I worked so hard and it was awful. Everyone hated it. I'll write you a better one; I'll get it right."

"Michael. There wasn't a dry eye in the place—you killed it kid. Look at me, I'm a fucking mess." He pulls me away from him and crouches so I can see his red eyes, with pink veins sticking out. "Uncle Sammy has the whole thing on video, you can see for yourself."

"But they were so quiet."

"Stunned into silence, more like. You got a standing ovation, the other kid didn't get that," he says with an over pouring of pride.

"Only 'cause Nick started it, they didn't want to make me feel bad."

"Jesus, Michael that wasn't it. Did you hear me? They were stunned. Nick had to remind'em they were still in the theatre. You were really something kid."

I look at Dad, really look at him. Of course he's going to tell me I'm awesome, that's one of the many reasons he's so great. He's told me every drawing of mine was Picasso quality, even when they weren't. But sometimes, I tricked him (yeah it was a sneaky thing to do, but I had to know; it was the only way) and would draw something not up to snuff, then tell him I was having a bad drawing day, to see what he'd say. Like everything else, it was worthy of being hung in the Met according to Dad, but something was different about his demeanor. He had to try harder to say the words, like he was forcing them out, but he would offer the smallest of critiques. Something like, "Even on your worst art day, this is still better than any Robert Bateman. I'm no artist, I fix cars, but maybe you just needed more light. Were you drawing in the dark?"

He's not flattering me now. He really means it, he's more than impressed actually. He's looking at me like I'm not real, stunned like he said the crowd was. "It was so good Michael, I don't even know what to say."

I don't care about anyone else. I just wanted him to like it and he does. "Yeah?"

"Yeah, kid. No one's ever written something like that for me, well there are the things in Papa's latest book, but nothing like that. Don't tell him, but I liked yours better."

"I won't," I say seriously.

"Though I think he wants to get out of here too. Your essay inspired some… enthusiastic fans. Papa's a little jealous." Daddy blushes.

I know that doesn't mean Papa wants fans. "Okay and Dad?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you."

"After that speech? How could I forget that?"

"Yeah, but look, even now, you make me feel better. You're so good at it; I just had to tell you." I squeeze him again.

About then, the rest of the family meet us backstage. "What's going on, Winchester?" Papa says to Dad; he's worried about me.

"We're good. Tell you later—go give your papa a hug kid."

I do.

"Uncle Sammy got the whole thing on video, Michael," Uncle Gabe says. "Wait 'till you see it."

"Where's the speech you were reading, Michael?" Dad asks.

"Oh, I'll print you a good one at home, Dad." I don't want to tell him I threw it away then he'll ask why and I don't want to say why. Hell, he likely won't have to ask why, he'll know why.

"I want _that_ one though. That's the one you read."

I can't deny him, so I pull away from Papa and retrieve it from the small garbage bin. It's all crumpled. "Here."

Dad shakes his head. Much as Dad tells me I'm the eighth wonder of the world, when he is unimpressed, I know it too. I know we're going to talk some more, it's going to be a Full House sitcom kind of night. This was not how I expected this night to go. "Nicholas, take your brother to the car, please," Papa says.

"Sweet, do I get to drive?" Nick asks.

"Over my dead body," Dad says. I laugh, which is why Nick asked that, to make me laugh. He is given the keys, we say goodbye to our uncles and Matty and Lo.

"You wanna go for a joyride, Mikey? I'll do that for you."

"I know you would, but don't. I don't want you in trouble because of me. I'm already in enough trouble."

"You're not in trouble."

"Dad was horrified."

"That's not the same as trouble, trust me."

Dad opens the driver side and Papa the passenger. They get in and close the doors at the same time and act like nothing's wrong, but I know something is. We go to Papa's coffee shop and have drinks and celebratory treats that I'm just not that into, finally, we go home. Things get serious when Papa asks Nicky to accompany him to his study, which is in the coach house they built with the thought in mind that Nicky could live there at some point if he really couldn't move away, but so far, he hasn't wanted to leave the house.

"Are you having a Dean Winchester style freak out, bud?" Dad asks when they've left.

"Yeah. I'm obviously in big trouble, just punish me or something."

"You obviously don't have enough experience being in trouble, if you think you're in trouble. You're not. I'm just, worried about you. You threw your essay in the trash."

"I was, having a moment."

"You don't lose your cool like that. Nicky, yeah, but not you."

"It was important."

"Michael."

"Fine." I know what he's digging for. I talk to Jelena about it. It's not something in the forefront anymore, not for a long time; it's just this stupid, deep seeded thing that comes up sometimes. "I know it's irrational, I know it's not going to happen, but yeah for a second, I thought…" I hate saying it, because I know how dumb it is and that it's even dumber coming out and I know what Dad will say in response, which he doesn't need to because _I know._ "…I thought I was going to get thrown away for the terrible essay. But only for a second. You're the best and I couldn't even thank you properly and I already know, I don't need to thank you or owe you. I know, Dad, I _know._ I even wrote how much you always want me in my essay."

He's quiet for a bit. Too quiet. "What?" I say. Now I'm a bit annoyed. This whole night was annoying.

"My kid says things like irrational."

"Six years of therapy Dad, you learn the lingo."

He heaves a big breath. He hates that I have to go to therapy in the first place. He's still got the slightest bit of discomfort when I mention it. "At risk of being annoying," he can tell how annoyed I am. "I'd never throw you away, Michael. Not in a million years."

"Dad I—"

"I'm not done Michael," he says in a tone I know he learned from Papa. I shut up. "You, Mister smarty pants didn't even figure it out as you wrote that essay, did you? All those things you said inspire you about me, what do you think my inspiration was?"

"I, I don't know."

"You."

"Me?"

He laughs. "Do I have to show you? You wrote it. Everything I did you thought was awesome, was because of you kid. Sure I helped with Sammy and made sacrifices there too, but I made the biggest ones for you. In a short time, I grew into this…super person, because you made my heart grow seven sizes. You really didn't figure that out?"

I shake my head. "I thought you were already like that before I came and you just didn’t know; that my essay would tell you."

"I'm glad you think I'm so humble, bud. Before you came along, I was a huge veiny dick." I laugh and wonder if Nick learned that from Dad, or Dad from Nick. "I really was. You have my full permission to ask Uncle Sam and Uncle Gabe and even Papa. Hell, you're even the reason Papa and I got together."

"Papa won't say anything bad about you."

"He would under the right circumstances. But we're getting off topic. You were my inspiration for all of that crap."

"I don't think you couldn't have had any good qualities before me."

"Sure, there were some, but you made me really shine. Like the Impala after a good wax."

"Okay, say I believe you, I inspired you to be awesome, I don't get how I did that."

"You didn't have to do anything. Just being alive. Though you are amazing at everything and even if you weren't, it wouldn't matter, you don't have to be anything, I'll still love you and still find you inspiring."

"That's too easy, Dad. See? I'm not great. You'd like me if I was a toad. You pretend to like the crappy art I draw you."

"First, if you were a toad, of course I'd like you, we'd sit on a hollow log, eating delicious bugs together and I do not pretend to like your 'crappy art,' I love all your art, crappy or otherwise."

"The gig is up. I draw you faux art to figure out when you're serious and when you're not about liking my stuff."

"You missed what I said, so I'll spell it out for you. I may not be a doctor like Papa, but I've got half a brain in this noggin. I know you do that and I do love your art. I love everything you do, crappy and all. Besides, people are opening invisible art museums and making sales. I'm sure you could make a living off of, 'the crappy art I tried to trick my dad with,'" he smiles.

"This is more distressing. How can I live up to that much praise? What if I amount to nothing?"

"Toad, remember? We're best buds even if you go off to be a toad and eat bugs. I wouldn't throw you away even then Michael."

"Dad, I know. I'm not just saying that. I know. I don't even know why that thought happened."

"Well if you forget, just remember, toads. And I'm putting this, right here." He takes the crumpled essay and sticks in on the fridge with all my other stuff he's deemed worthy, so everything.

"Nick's going to feel left out with only my stuff up there."

"I've got his acceptance letter to KU right here," he points out. "Soon as he draws me something, or writes me an essay, I'll make room. As much as I do like your crappy artwork," he says and we both laugh, "this essay has special significance. I feel like I just got a report card with straight A's. Thank you. I'll treasure it always and I plan on handing it out at family gatherings when I get on people's nerves, so you can remind them how great I am in the written word."

He takes my hand and we head out to retrieve Papa and Nick who sound like they're arguing and we all know how far you get arguing with Papa. It's not long before we hear Nick getting a decent-sounding wallop to his backside and being told to find a corner. "On second thought Michael, let's go for ice cream."

"It's late. Won't Papa expect at least me in bed soon?"

"Good thing I got my nine-year-old to remind me. Okay, sundaes in the kitchen and Archer reruns on the couch?"

Now I know he's kidding, Papa told me I'm not allowed to watch Archer yet, no matter what Nicky says. Dad wouldn’t really let me either, but he'd joke about it. "How about sundaes and Mr. Bean on Netflix?"

"Deal and when the other two come in, we pretend we're toads on the couch."

I think he liked his analogy a little too much, that and I know he's making sure our little talk was successful. Maybe I'll have to start making him regular report cards for the fridge. "Yeah, Dad. That's us. Toads on the couch."


	34. TIME STAMP: CAMPING TRIP

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This Time Stamp began as a fun, light-hearted thing, but then UUUGGHH! I don't know why the things I write always have to have some sort of "Full House" thing going on, but... oh wait, I know why, watched that show too much as a kid; it's embedded in my psyche. So I don't know if this makes sense anymore, but I hope you enjoy it for the mayhem it was meant to be. 
> 
> In this chapter I used a work written by S.E. Scholosser, but it's adapted to both sound more "Dean" and to fit the version my gramma told me as a kid. Yes, she did tell it to me when I was four... now you know why I'm crazy ;)

I know what hell feels like now: Driving to a campsite nine hours away with a four-year-old and an almost sixteen-year-old. Was this really my idea? Part of the fun was supposed to be the road trip aspect, but it's been a whole lot of bickering and grouchiness and I want to strangle my own children.

"I told you to keep your dirty, smelly feet on your side, Michael." I'm watching them in the rearview, I can see Nick push Michael's feet away.

"They're not smelly!"

"They're disgusting balls of dirt."

"I want to keep my foot there."

Michael outgrew the car seat and moved onto the booster seat; he's got more leeway for moving around and he likes to. "Knock it off you two. Michael, keep your feet to yourself. Nick, shut the hell up." I smile at him in the mirror to let him know I don't mean it meanly, but I do want him to shut the hell up.

"But Daddy, I like my foot to touch Nicky."

"He's still touching me, Dad."

"Here, let's put some music on." I turn up the music to drown out the sound of them fighting and honk the horn, so Cas knows to hurry the hell up with whatever he's doing in the gas station. I really am going to strangle them both if I have listen to them for five more seconds, Cas needs to do his damage control thing.

But yeah, the camping thing, all my idea. I want it to be like the one trip Sammy and I went on with Dad as kids. I have good memories. Sam and Gabe are meeting us up at the campsite. They rented a motorhome for the six day trip. We're tenting it. Michael's and my suggestion, won at the family meeting (though don't tell Cas I said it like that, he decides). We made a good case (though it's fair to point out that Michael agrees with most of the things I say). Nick's,"It's fucking dirty in tents," didn't win him any points, unless you count spanks in points. In that case he got twenty.

Nick's in a sour mood, because he is not looking forward to both the tent part and being holed up in the backseat of the Impala for the nine hour drive, which of course means nine hours back home. The trip itself, I think he's keen on. He's got a deep rooted need for family, but he was not pleased with the _hows_ of the trip. For instance, he suggested a compromise where we fly and meet Sam and Gabe at our camping destination where they'd have been waiting with a motorhome in that case, which on second thought, maybe we should have done—but I was so looking forward to the road trip and was sure I could get him to have fun. I thought it would be a great bonding experience. So far, him and Michael have 'unbonded'. That so is a word.

Meh. He'll be fine once the trip really gets going, I'm sure of it. It's going to be great. Best part, I was able to get Sammy to bring up most of our stuff in the motorhome. I really wanted to drive the Impala up—more Dad nostalgia, which won Sammy over too, even though he claims that, that particular family camping trip was not nearly as awesome as I remember it. What does he know? I'm the older brother.

Finally, Cas appears. "Thank God, Cas. Those two are getting grouchy, I think we need food." It's amazing how quick they can turn when they're tired or hungry. Nick takes great care of Michael. Dotes on him even. But they are definitely siblings—also like with Sammy and I.

"I bought some snacks, but—"

"—but no food in the Impala Cas. Hard rule."

"Calm down Winchester. I won't allow evil chip crumbs to inhabit the leather interior's ecosystem."

I'm still getting Cheezie out of there from when Michael was littler. "Papa, I want to put my feet on Nicky."

Michael already knows who has the real power around here.

"They're dirty and gross, Papa. He's been running around barefoot since our last stop."

Cas looks to me, his eyes saying, _really? Is this what they're fighting about?_

"I'm totally cool if you want to sell them on EBay Cas."

Michael laughs. "You can't do that Daddy."

"I bet I'd get the best price for you." I reach back to tickle his grody, bare, foot. Michael's done well in therapy, like really well. He's already smart enough to know my sense of humor, but of course there are still issues—thank fuck my parenting is not one of them, cursing like a sailor and all. In fact, I always get compliments, if sometimes more than I feel I deserve. And Nick, he's doing better, but he's still got his baggage. Despite all that, he's smart as hell and definitely knows when I'm joking too. "I'll sell each toe separately."

"I'm afraid that if your brother doesn't want your feet on him, you have to keep them to yourself, my lad," Cas says in his gentle voice. It's still firm. "You should be sitting in your seat properly anyway," he adds, doing up his own seatbelt.

"Okay Papa, but his, his leg is so cozy for my foot."

"Aw. Listen to how cute he sounds. Just let him, we'll wash your clothes, Nicky," I say not thinking.

"That's horseshit and so is this trip. No one cares what I want."

He's kinda touchy about that (especially because he feels he was outvoted on more than _just_ this trip at the last couple family meetings) and yeah, guess my comment implies that. Before I can say as much, Cas steps in. "We all care very much about what you want, Nicholas. If you're upset, you are welcome to say so, but you will speak respectfully, am I understood?"

Even I shudder a little at the tone of Cas's voice. He does not take kindly to disrespect.

"Yeah, but—"

"I believe 'yes sir' is the answer you are looking for." Cas waits.

"Yes, sir," Nick says grudgingly.

"Thank you, Nicholas. I just told Michael that he is not to put his feet on you. That's no matter how cute he is, Winchester." Cas sounds exhausted, having to deal with the three of us yahoos and our nonsense.

"I'm sorry, Nickster. I didn't mean it that way. Forgive me?"

He doesn't answer.

"C'mon. I'll let you have first dibs on sleeping spots in the tent."

" As if letting me have first pick of the thing I don't want to do at all is appealing."

"You're gonna have a blast. It's going to be so much fun, you'll forget all about dirt."

"And the fact that I'm going to be sleeping on rocks?"

"That's what air mattresses are for."

I get excited as I drive us to the diner down the road. This, Sammy and I did with Dad lots, not just on the few camping trips we went on. Diners. Dad liked to eat at diners.

Nick's relieved to be out of the backseat (even though we've been stopping every hour and a half) and Michael too. "How about we put shoes on you big guy?" I say to Michael.

"I don't want shoes, Daddy."

"We're going into an establishment, Michael," Cas says with Michael's shoes in hand. "No shirt, no shoes, no service. Sorry, but you're going to have to put them on, my lad."

Cas has spoken. None of us are immune to the wonderment that is Cas. "Okay, Papa, but I can take them off after?"

Nick huffs.

"You may," Cas says.

Michael's already had a bit of a growth spurt. His appetite still gives me a run for my money, but it's helped in the growth department. His once short legs are long enough to get a decent stride as he runs to the door in the empty parking lot and he's pretty agile from what I've seen of other four-year-olds. It's still fairly early. I wanted to get an early start on the drive; more camping time.

"Michael!" Nick says running after his brother and grabbing his hand. He's a worse helicopter parent than either me or Cas. Part of his therapy-homework is to get him to not be quite so 'parent-y' with Michael and he's better, but we've all agreed there's some room for older brother protectiveness. Nick has a hard time letting go of a few things—that's one of them.

Cas and I look at each other and decide to let that one go. We kinda get on his case a lot, but it's because we've both seen how well he does with structure. There has to be balance though and he's been pretty pissed about this whole sleeping in a tent thing. It's easy to see, he's still feeling like we ganged up on him, which wasn't the case at all. We let him run after Michael and grab his hand and lead him into the diner.

We're seated in one of those booths. I slide in with Nick to give him a Michael break and so I can get him to forgive me, but I'm pretty sure this is how it works… Parents are supposed to take you on trips you don't like and tell you, you have to like it, then you remember it fondly when you're older.

"Get whatever you want," I tell them opening the menu. "I know I am."

"I want pancakes," Michael says.

"Don't you want to look inside the menu?" Cas asks. "How will you know what you want on your pancakes?"

Cas puts an arm around Michael and reads the menu with him. They look very father and sonly. If I were Nick and feeling like he is now, I might feel worse watching them. Cas isn't doing anything wrong, but Nick's in a mood because of the circumstances. I decide to work my charm. "You need help reading the menu too, sport?" I tease.

I'm surprised when I get a smile that quickly out of him. It's only a half smile and it's kind of a smirk, but it's there. "I'm good."

"You know guys, everything tastes better out at camp. Even just regular food like eggs and bacon," I tell them.

"It does?" Michael says. "Wow."

"Yep. And at night, we can make S'mores."

"And sing kumba-freaking-ya?"

"Nicholas."

"I said freaking."

"You've been asking for my attention since last night. You've got it, my boy. Switch places with Michael, please."

Great. Now he's put himself on watch. _Cas watch._ That is not the radar you want to be on, believe me. I get out of the bench seat, so Nick can drag himself out. I grab Michael under his arms and seat him beside me, so Nick can slide in beside Cas. Cas can't spank him in the diner, nor is he planning to. Not yet. But anyone like me or like Nick, will feel what Cas is doing for what it is, a heavy warning. It's still a physical action and it makes you think and behave, most of the time, and it's assurance that Cas has got you. It's all good things, but it's still not the attention you want. It could lead to spanking, but even if it doesn't, it means Cas is displeased. We don't like displeasing Cas. All spankings aside, it's a terrible feeling. One that is somehow forgotten until you've earned his displeasure in some way, then you're usually trying to dig your way out of that pit.

About then, the server comes and I order coffee even though I know it will be shitty coffee. I'm used to the good stuff, but I still need my fix. "Does everyone know what they're having? Maybe we could order now?" I want to get back on the road.

We do and the tension eases a bit. Cas seems to know exactly what to do when Nick's like this. We all end up benefitting. We've quickly become a family unit. As much as one of us can set off the other, we can also ease each other.

"W-what's a S'more, Dad?"

Part of Nick's tough-guy act is because he's actually shy. Yeah. Even still. Especially anything that makes him vulnerable. He knows "everyone should know what a S'more is" but is embarrassed that he doesn't. I give him my huge proud smile, but don't make a big deal of it. "S'mores are gooey, marshmallow-y, chocolate-y goodness. They're made over a campfire, the place a few of our meals will be made over this weekend." Cas in particular has a sweet tooth. "I bet Papa's gonna eat twenty by the end of the weekend."

"I bet, I bet he's gonna eat a hundred," Michael says. He just learned 'a hundred' and he thinks it's the biggest number ever. He uses it for everything.

"What about you, Nicky? How many s'mores will Papa eat?"

"I'd bet my allowance he'll make it to thirty," Nick says with a fond look to Cas. I know Nick cares about me, loves me, but there is a special reverence for Cas, one I can completely understand.

"That sounds like a bet. How about we double or nothing—"

"—or nothing, Winchester. There will be no betting of allowances, or any other monetary items," Cas says.

"Why just the one Winchester? What about the other Winchester?" We're all Winchesters now, even Cas.

"You're the adult in this situation. Barely," he smirks.

"Be a good boy like me, Daddy. It's easy. I'll show you," Michael says in an earnest little voice.

It's worth the humiliation to hear Nick's laugh. "Yeah Dad. Michael can give you lessons."

Michael's a bit of a teacher's pet. "Okay, laugh it up."

At some point during the middle of our breakfast, Cas reaches out to fix Nick's hair (something he only lets Cas do without making a face). "That better, Nicky?" He gives the back of Nick's neck a gentle squeeze.

"Yes, Papa. I was hungry."

"I know. You're a growing teenage boy."

"Hey, we had breakfast sandwiches," I complain. I was in a hurry to get out the door early this morning. I wanted the fun to start.

"That was three hours ago, Winchester."

"We stopped at that lookout point for snacks." Am I the only one having fun so far?

"And you let Michael run around all over the grass. Barefoot," Cas says with a flick of his eyes to Nick. Right. Nick would have been focused on that.

"You didn't have any of the awesome snacks I brought, Nicky-Nick?"

He shakes his head. I'm the worst parent ever. Thank God Cas is around. I just figured Nick would eat.

"You can get more breakfast. Get another plate," I tell him.

He laughs. "I'm good with what I ordered Dad."

When we're done, it's back in the car and Michael's already taking his shoes off. "C'mere my lad, let's clean those up a bit. You may take the front seat for a little bit Nicholas," Cas says.

"Really?" It's like he's won the lottery.

"Really."

Nick slides into the passenger side as I start up the Impala. He breaks rule number one of driving in my car; he reaches for the music. "Ah, ah, ah, what do you think you're doing?"

"Picking some music?"

"I don't think so. Driver picks the music—"

"—shotgun shuts his cakehole," everyone, including Michael says.

Nick slumps back in his seat and I feel like I ruined his special 'sit in the front seat' time. "Okay. I'll let you pick the music _this once,_ but I will do the switching and don't anyone else get any big ideas," I tell Cas and Michael in the backseat.

"I want the lollipop song after, Daddy," Michael says.

"I wouldn't mind something from the Cult," Cas says.

"Hold your horses guys, I get mine first. I want Bryan Adams."

"Bryan Adams… the Cult… the Lollipop song?" I laugh. "Jokes on you guys, I don't have any cassette tapes with any of that crap on them."

"Actually, Dean, if Nick checks under the passenger seat, you'll find all of those and more."

I'm pulling out of the parking lot as Nick does just that. "Whoa. Where'd you get all these cassette tapes, Papa?"

I can see Cas in the backseat with Michael, cleaning his feet with wet wipes. "A used record store and Craigslist."

"I got your Lollipop song, Mikey," Nick says.

That chokes me up a bit. "I thought you wanted, oh God, Bryan Adams."

"I do, but if we only get one shot at picking music, I…Mikey can have it." He feels guilty for being a dick to him, even though he wasn't really a dick. _He's always thinking of Michael first where it counts._

Fuck. "Fine. Each person gets one pick, _one,_ am I clear?"

"Loud and clear, Winchester."

"Yeah, Dad."

"Michael? You get just one pick. You sure you want the lollipop song?" I ask. Why does my son like a chick song?

"Duh, Daddy. I know I only get one pick. That's why I'm going to listen to it a hundred times."

**

"Lollipop, lollipop, oh lolly, lolly, lolly…"

That's all of them, for the fiftieth fucking time. They think they're hilarious and having a good time laughing in between singing. Especially when Michael shouts again, again! Everyone else latched onto Michael's idea of listening to their choice repeatedly, so we've also had several rounds of Summer of '69 and Friday I'm in Love. They even talked me into Bohemian Rhapsody.

They're all having so much fun, I keep giving in, but I complain enough to make them think I don't like what they're doing—part of their fun is getting my goat. "Again, Daddy!" Michael says laughing.

"No, not again!"

"Yeah! Again," he laughs.

As much as I am enjoying the fun, I am glad when we finally make it to the camp site and karaoke time is over. Cas and Nick switched spots at another pit stop we made and I made sure to feed _both_ of my kids.

Nick immediately begins helping Michael out of his seat and swipes up his sandals, which Michael notices. "Do I have to wear shoes, Papa?" Michael asks.

"'Fraid so, my lad."

Whether Cas said yes or not, Nick was already intent on stuffing Michael's feet in sandals. The "campsite," is actually a property which belongs to an old, old friend of Dad's. We didn't see him much growing up and we still don't, but I dug out his number and asked if we could use it for a fee. There's a hook up spot for Sam and Gabe's motorhome, an outhouse and an old shed with some stuff in it to use on the lake. He never did build a house. There are a couple of sturdy picnic benches—it's private and perfect. There are miles of forest all around.

"All right campers. Everyone grab some gear from the trunk." Most of our gear is with Sammy, but I've got the tent, blow up mattresses and sleeping bags as well as some pillows. We were able to fit a small cooler in with the kids in the back seat and our clothes as well as a few other nick knacks. I know how to pack.

I hand Michael a small lantern that he can carry and give Nick the blow up mattresses. "Am I sharing one of these with sir-moves-around-all-fu—freaking-night?"

That was the plan, which I thought he'd want. "It's not like he doesn't end up in your bed most nights," I say.

"That's different. A regular mattress doesn't shift as much as the blow up ones do."

"How would you know? You've never slept on a blow up mattress."

"It's not hard to figure out."

His imagined conclusion is correct. "Michael can sleep with me. You can share with Papa." It's not like I'm ever going to get a full night's rest again. There always seems to be something. It's way I asked Cas to give me a bedtime in the first place. At least making me go to bed at a reasonable hour, ensures that I'm not a literal zombie. Despite my being "an adult" who should be responsible for going to bed at a reasonable hour, I won't. I'll stay up for no reason and waste time watching stupid videos on YouTube all night. Thankfully Cas doesn’t let me.

Nick blushes a bit at me having refereed to Cas as Papa. Yeah still. It makes him feel like a little kid when I do that, but he should get to feel like a little kid, since he's never been one. I know he likes it though, despite his mild embarrassment. And besides, I should get to have some fun doing this parent thing. "No, I'll sleep with him. You should get to sleep with Papa," Nick says following after Michael. I'm left staring at the back of him. Sometimes he can be so considerate.

"I wasn't asking," I call out anyway in a voice loud enough he can hear me. I don't get an answer and continue to stare into the direction he left to.

Cas slips in behind me and kisses my neck. "What you thinking about Winchester?"

"Nick. I'm worried about him Cas. Maybe, this _was_ a bad idea. I just wanted to recreate a good memory I had, for them."

"I know. He'll be fine. This will be good for him. It's half the reason I agreed to this tom-foolery. I've got both eyes on him and on you."

As if I could forget. Cas always has two eyes on me. On all of us. The thought makes me sink into him; a whole body sigh. "Thanks Cas."

I hand him some stuff and he joins the boys. "We're going to construct the tent. Does anyone need to pee before we begin?"

"Me! Me!" Michael says.

Everyone does. I take Michael and he has fun peeing in the bush. "Do we get to pee outside the whole time, Daddy?"

"Yep. The whole time." At least Michael's an easy crowd to please.

When we're done peeing, we meet back and I begin spreading out the tarp. Cas helps. "Why are you putting that there?" Nick asks.

"It goes under the tent as an extra layer of protection. Keeps the bottom of the tent from getting damaged and if it does rain, getting wet." I like his keen interest and capitalize on it.

We all help spread the large tent over the tarp, even Michael helps. "Poles next." Poles are always the least fun part of tent-building. Especially since this tent is fucking huge and we need poles for the fly that are as long as the poles for the main part of the tent. They are thinner, but only slightly. We did do a dry run setting this tent up in the backyard at home, but other than that, this tent has never been used. We bought it new. We promised Nick that if we were making him tent, at least we'd do that part in style.

"Fuck, wrong pole," I say when we've threaded the first pole through. It's easy to tell it's the wrong one once it's in—it's just slightly too long.

"Daddy that's not polite," Michael says.

Cas taught him that. By some miracle, we've taught Michael not to swear, even though I do and Nick does, which means I doubt it will last. We have tried to cool it around him, Cas is strict about Nick not swearing in front of Michael, something about it being what Nick needs, but with me, it's a complete lost cause. Cas decided he didn't want to go there. Not only would it do me no good, he actually agrees that I don't need to not swear for the kids not to. Some things are just things you get to do when you're an adult. After all, 'adulting' can really suck sometimes, shouldn't adults get to do something kids can't?

"You're right, that's not polite. Good boy, big guy," I agree.

It takes a few tries and some frustration, but finally, the tent pops up to its full height and we can put the fly on. "Wo-ow!" Michael says, impressed by everything.

Nick's quiet, but his eyes are shining, lips quirking at the corners, fighting a smile. He likes it. I often get him to help me with household and automotive repairs. I know well the sense of pride felt fixing something and a job well done. I also know the look he gets when he's feeling that. "Okay, you two are in charge of figuring out the blow up mattresses, Papa and I will set up the other tarp over the tent."

"Daddy, I don't know how to blow up a mattress," Michael says.

"There's a pump buddy. Nicky's gonna help you."

"I don't know how to either, Dad," Nick says frustrated.

"That's half the fun. Take them in the tent and do your best, I'll be in to help you in a sec if you can't. You guys are smart though. You'll figure it out."

Nick rolls his eyes at me. Michael giggles. "Make sure you take your shoes off before you go in the tent," Cas reminds them, as if he needed to. That, Nick would have figured out.

"You were right, Winchester, this is fun," Cas says to me quietly.

I almost can't believe my ears. "That's hawt, Cas. Can you say that again? I like a guys who's outdoorsy." He shakes his head at me.

We begin setting up the tarp and as we do, we can hear the boys inside trying to figure out the mattress. "How does that work, Nicky?"

"It's like a giant balloon," Nick explains.

I can see their profiles inside the tent. Michael's sitting on the floor of the tent with his hands in between his crossed legs, watching, looking up at his big brother. Nick's got the first mattress unfolded and is fiddling with blow-up-thingy part. He pops the nozzle into the hole as I'm securing string to the branch of a tree and hoisting the tarp.

"Wanna come press the pedal, Mikey?"

"Yeah! I do! I do!" The smallest things are exciting to Michael.

Nick lets him step on the pump, until he sees how long it's going to take if he continues to let Michael do it (at which point I chuckle under my breath and look at Cas who's also getting a kick out of them) and Nick takes over. Cue brother-brother arguing. "Hey! It's my turn again, Nicky. Stop hoggin' all the turns."

"It's gonna take you forever."

He keeps pumping, Michael gets pissed. "That's not fair!" He kicks the pump out from under Nick's foot.

Cas and I look at each other. We've already decided we don't want to be those parents who solve all our kid's problems for them, but they are two boys and they're both stubborn as hell when they want to be. Not to mention they're cranky from being stuffed in a car all day. I think both kids could use a lie down, even the teen.

We wait to see where it goes. "All right, you can have another turn," Nick huffs.

"A hundred turns."

"You don't—fine, a hundred turns."

I'm proud of Nick. I'm the one who taught him that Michael has no idea what a hundred means and to just say yes and he'll be happy. Michael claps this hands and they get along for another five minutes. When it comes time for Nick to pull the pump's nozzle out, they have trouble again. There is a bit of a trick to not losing that perfect mattress pump as you pull out the blow up nozzle and try to close the mattress's opening at the same time. I can't see his face, but I know Nick's frustrated posture. I don't say anything and just wait. So does Cas.

Nick's been working on Jelena with asking for help when he needs it. He goes through several rounds of putting the nozzle back in and trying to pull it out and close it then testing the bed only to find it too deflated. "When is it my turn again, Nicky?"

"In a sec, I'm just trying to…ugh." He tries two more times, but this point, Cas and I are half done with the tarp.

"Do we need help?" Michael asks.

"No. We don't."

Cas raises his eyebrows asking me if we should intervene. Much as Cas is the decision-maker between us, he's told me time and time again that apparently my instincts with this specifically are good; he often asks my opinion. Yeah, fancy that, the doctor of psych asking my opinion. He says that's not as shocking as I seem to find it, I have real life experience in this area, he just doesn't have. I do sense a meltdown. But I think we should let it go to that. Nick needs it.

I'm sure if Nick were calmer, he could figure it out, but any number of berating thoughts are running around in his head right now. He gives it another try and when it doesn't work, he lets the whole thing go and starts punching it. That's my cue. I head into the tent to the tune of, "stupid freaking thing. I can't! This is stupid! This was all stupid!"

Michael's watching him sadly. I know he wants to help his brother, but his brother won't let him. "Hey, hey kid. Lemme show you how to do that."

"I don't want to." But he's sniffling and he's shaking and he's wiping at his eyes.

I pull the kid to me. "It's fine, Nicky."

"I can't do it. I can't…"

I squeeze him. "Fuck it. You don't have to know how to do everything. That's what Dad's are for. I just wanted you to try and you did—you did a bang up job."

"B-but if it were just me, we'd be s-sleeping—I couldn't do it." He can't seem to get past that—how he 'failed' him and Michael; it makes him feel too much like he's going to, as he puts it, 'be a failure like his mom.'

"You're not meant to, bud. C'mon. I'll teach you and you'll be able to do the next one, got it?"

He nods into my chest.

"Even I screw it up sometimes. The design is flawed I say. Not us, we're Winchesters."

"Should we do the Winchester cheer, Daddy?" Michael says.

"I think so." We do a three man Winchester cheer, since Cas is still setting up the tarp. "Come watch this, both of you. I'm going to show you how it's done."

I teach both boys how to close the mattress with minimal air seepage, letting Nick try, successfully. "We're going to have to blow them up some each night anyway. You good for the second one?" I ask him.

"Yes, sir."

"I'm helpin' him, Daddy," Michael tells me.

"I know. I heard you pumping a hundred times." I get a big smile.

When I step out of the tent, I'm grabbed roughly and slammed into the nearest tree. Cas's lips press against mine, then it's all tongue. "You're fucking sexy when you parent Winchester," he says in my ear. Cas's bizarre-o parent kink.

"Are your ovaries beating, Cas?" I laugh and squeeze his dick.

He grabs the back of my neck and kisses me again. "No, I just love how good you are with the boys. It's attractive." He smacks my ass hard.

I glare at him and rub. "I'm pretty sure that's not what you're supposed to do to my ass for that," I hiss at him so the kids can't hear, pretending I'm put out.

"I'm pretty sure it is."

Yeah. It is.

By the time we're done the tarp, the kids are finished with the mattresses and we all work together putting the sleeping bags and pillows in, we stand back and admire our job well done, another Winchester cheer is prompted. "Whoooa Winchester!"

"Now that's done, you two. Lay down. An hour. Let's go," I tell them.

"What? I'm almost sixteen. I don't need a nap Dad."

"And I'm four. I don't need one either," Michael says.

"Well I'm thirty-two and I still take naps. I'm going to lie down." It's hotter than Satan's crotch, but I lay down atop the sleeping bag and grab Michael. "Sleeping time."

"Daddy," Michael complains.

"Papa," Nick complains.

"I could use a rest too. C'mon. Just for a little bit," Cas says.

Nick is not pleased, but Cas has spoken, so he lies down on the mattress next to Cas, leaving his eyes popped wide open. "Nicholas," Cas warns with closed eyes.

"I'm _not_ tired, Papa."

"Just rest your eyes for an hour. That's all we're asking."

Michael yawns. "Maybe I am sleepy, Daddy."

Michael closes his eyes as I take a peek over at Nick who's still not complying. Cas decides he's done with Nick's silent tantrum and flips him sideways laying down several hard spanks. I've seen Nick get spanked a lot more than the few swats he's been given, it usually takes longer for him to cry, but everything's on the surface today, for whatever reason, and in just a few smacks, he's sniffling, crying into his pillow, which is just what he needs. Cas runs fingers through his hair in a way that so far, only Cas can. "Dad said everyone's having a rest, so we're having a rest, without tantrums. Apologize, please."

"I'm s-sorry, Dad."

I'm still not huge on the touchy-feely crap, but I'm more so since I got a nuclear family and especially so with said nuclear family. I want to go over and give him another hug, but this, _this_ is Cas's area, so I back off and let him do his Cas-thing. It really works for Nick. Most days sooner than this, though he is prone to bratting. "It's okay bud."

"Could everyone _please_ be quiet now? I'm really sleepy and trying to sleep," Michael says. Fuck he's cute. It's hard not to laugh.

"We'll be quiet, grease monkey." And we are.

**

We're all waking up as the giant, fancy motorhome pulls in. Gabe honks the horn loud a few times and Michael, who's a slow waker, scowls with his eyes closed. "That's loud, Daddy. Tell'em to be quiet."

Ignoring his grumbles, I lift him up, attaching him to my chest, his head on my shoulder and exit the tent. They pull into the spot closest to the hook up and I help guide them, so they'll be able to attach everything easily. "Hey-ho, campers!" Sam says, swinging the door open, his big form emerging from the motorhome.

I didn't realize how much I was missing my brother 'till he appeared like that. Sam is sunny. He makes me feel sunny too. Not that I'll ever fucking say that to his face. "Sammy. What took you so long?"

"Sight-seeing," the twins say at the same time as they hop down from the steps.

"Daddy made us stop at every stop," Lo adds.

The twins are already long like string beans, having been made from Sam's juices. They grow so freaking fast, they'll be taller than Gabe by the time they're eight. "Yeah, Gabe got a little photo crazy," Sam agrees. "But great memories for the scrapbooks."

I still can't believe my brother scrapbooks. "I'm about to make hot dogs a la campfire," I say.

"How were you going to do that? We have all your food, Dean," he says giving me a look.

"Brought an extra package I stuffed in with the beer and snacks cooler."

"Glad you have your priorities straight."

"But now that you're here, be useful and grab out the buns and condiments."

"Are you bossing your brother around, Winchester?" Cas says climbing out of the tent.

"Wouldn't dream of it," I say and Cas knows I'm full of shit, warning me with his eyes to behave myself. Sam does head back into the camper to get the stuff I demanded.

"Hey-ho, Winchesters," Gabe says coming around from the driver's side. Those two. They can be as alike as their twins sometimes. At others, so different.

"Hello, Gabriel," Cas says.

"Cas. Michael. Dean. Where's Winchester number four?"

I look to Cas because where is Winchester number four? He assures me with his eyes he's fine. "He'll be out in a minute. He's changing into something less sweat inducing."

Michael comes alive and wiggles his way down. "I'm gonna play with the kids Daddy."

I'm proud every time he says that. "Yep. Go nuts."

I work on getting a fire started as Nick rises out of the tent. I'm surprised-not-surprised when Cas points to the picnic bench, as in that's where he wants Nick to sit. Nick's not happy about Cas's directive, but he doesn’t argue in front of Sam and Gabe and risk getting one of Cas's stern telling offs. Too embarrassing.

He slouches at the table, now dressed in a tank top and shorts. I wonder how Cas got him into that. Then I remember, Cas is a wizard. "What happened?" I say to Cas as he slides a hand across my waist.

He shakes his head. "He's fine. He just needs to settle down a bit."

I nod into this neck and kiss his smooth-cheek then get back to my fire-making.

Sam returns with the stuff and sets it on the wooden picnic table. "You may help Sam if you like, Nicholas," Cas says.

Nick perks up. "Here, put these buns on a plate then hand your dad the hot dogs," Sam says.

"No need, Sammy. Got my own dogs right here," I remind him, waving the package at him.

"Ugh. Those are the worst of the worst," Sam says.

"They're camping hot dogs. That's what you're supposed to have camping. It was good enough for you, me and Dad."

"That's all Dad could afford at the time Dean."

"Well I'm using these ones."

"Not me and not my kids. Gabe, you can have a death dog if you want."

I can tell even Gabe doesn't want one on account he's probably been brainwashed by Sammy and despite our brat pact, so I don't push it. "Fine. Cas?"

"You know I like good food Romantic Whispers."

"Don't you 'romantic whispers' me if you're leaving me high and dry, Castiel." Great. Now I sound like a nagging husband.

"I-I'll have one, Dad," Nick says.

"Ah, see? That's my boy—thanks Nickster."

"But no calling me Nickster."

I cook up three of my special dogs, I know Michael will eat one both because I am and because he'll eat anything and sit with Nick as Cas makes his own (from the fancy hot dog package) and Sam makes some for his family; Gabe hands out beer. I take a big, greasy bite. "Now this is camping."

"It's good to know one roasted wiener is camping to you Dean-o, though you coulda just done that at home," Gabe says.

"Gabe," Sam warms, looking toward the kids.

"Sorry, Samsquatch," he says giving in waaay too fucking easily and leaning in to kiss Sam. He must be on Sam's list for something, or have a recently warmed rear—I know that story. But me? I've been spank-free for a good three weeks. I don't even remember what a spanking is by this point, okay that's an exaggeration, but I'm sure this means I've reached a point in which I don't have to be spanked ever again. I reach out to touch Cas's leg. He's seated next to me, with Michael on the other side of him who's making a giant mess of his hot dog, even though I cut it in half and down the middle, since as Nick pointed out, a hot dog is about the same shape as an esophagus and therefore easy for little kids to choke on. Freaked the bejeezus out of me—all the times Sam could have choked when he was a kid.

I'd be more comfortable with tiny little pieces, but Michael likes to have it in a bun like the rest of us, so we just help him and teach him to fucking chew—and I spend my hot dog eating simultaneously glad he's getting the camping experience I wanted, while worried he'll suffocate. Being a parent is a stressful fucking conundrum.

I'm also now worried about Nick having a good time because it doesn't look like he's going to be as easy of a sell on this whole camping thing as I thought he would be.

After our snack ('cause hot dogs are snacks out at camp) the younger kids want to go down to the lake. "Stay here and finish setting up with Sam," Cas suggests to me. "I'll go down with the kids and Gabe."

"You sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure Winchester."

Nick opts to stay with us. We help Sam pull out the awning to the motorhome (which is a bit of a bitch if you ask me) and he gives us a tour. "Whoa, this is camping, Dad," Nick says impressed.

"This is not camping, it's glamping. Look at this, a fridge? What's up with the stainless steel appliances Sammy?"

"You'll appreciate them by day three Dean. Look Nicky, there's a shower too and extra beds if you and Michael want to spend a night with us."

I'm about to protest that in a big way, but Nick's happy, genuinely fucking happy for the first time on this trip. He runs off to check out the (real) beds and Sam notices my pouting. "C'mon Dean. I thought you and Cas would be eager for some tent-sex, huh?" he says nudging me.

"Ew, Sammy. You shouldn't be my… sex wing man. We can figure that out ourselves, thanks."

He's used to me and doesn't bat an eye at my surliness. Instead he laughs. "Sex wing man, that's not what I was doing. I just know you two don't get too many nights alone. Thought this was a good opportunity for you."

It's true. We still have our monthly sit for Sam and Gabe and Michael's been okay the odd night to forget about being with Daddy, but this also has to coincide with Nick being okay who is surprisingly less okay with us gone than Michael is—he's just less vocal about it. He loves both Sam and Gabe and the twins, but he'd rather know we're close by. Of course, he'll be all fucking stoic about it, but he's, we'll say, 'not-good' for days after and we hate fucking doing that to him. And yeah, technically, he's more than old enough and responsible enough to be left home alone and with Michael, but it's the hard fucking rock in a hard fucking place thing. We don't want him feeling like he's our built in babysitter, because of what he's been through and we don't want to ship Michael off alone to Sam and Gabe's without him, like he's some third wheel, so the family rule, for now, is when Cas and I go out without them, they both go to Sam and Gabe's. Hence, the not going out very often for Dean and Cas.

Sam's right, with us being so close by, this is the perfect situation to have a night alone, only problem, I didn't come here to have a night alone with my husband.

"Dad, you gotta come see this, it's crazy."

I head toward the direction of his voice and I gotta admit, it's pretty sweet. It's a room with two sets of bunk beds, one set on each side done up all cozy with soft pillows and duvets. It does look pretty cool. And as much as Nick can be pretty mature for an almost sixteen-year-old, he's filled with all these little boy fantasies. I can totally see this through his eyes. "Can we Dad?" he asks biting his lip knowing what he's asking for, maybe not realizing just how much of a deal it is to me for us all to be together in the fucking tent. "Just for one night?" _Or maybe he does…_

I can't say no to that face. "I don't mind at all," I say and try to be convincing, "and I'm sure Papa won't either."

"Sweet. Thanks Dad. I'm going to read a book in here, if that's okay too."

'Cause yeah there's a fucking bookshelf in here too, loaded and both my kids are fucking book nerds. Okay, I'm kind glad about that, really fucking glad, it's just inconvenient right now. "Yeah, it's okay, but don't spend all your time inside, Nickster."

I don't know if he's heard me though, he's already gone to reading land. "You get an hour Nick and then you're out, understood?" Uncle Sam tells him, seeing as I seem to have frozen.

"Yeah, yeah."

"Excuse me?" Sam says, sounding a lot like Cas, which is probably what kicks Nick's brain into gear.

"Yes, sir. I'll come out, one hour, got it…" Aaaand, he's gone again.

"Come with me, Dean." Sam drags me out of the motorhome, grabbing two more beers as we go. We sit on opposite sides of the picnic table. "He's a teen, big brother, don't take offence. Teens are supposed to act like him—they're creatures."

"Yeah I know. But maybe we should have done something he liked better for a vacation."

Sam shakes his head smiling. "Look who's turned into the parenting softy," he says then takes a pull on his beer. "Uh-uh. Kids go where the parents decide. Not that they can't have input, but how else will kids ever do the things that they don't want to do, that are for their own good?"

"Well, we should have rented something, like you did then." I chug half my beer.

"Didn't Cas decide a yes on this?"

"Okay, I admit it—yeah he did but it's because I gave him the Dean Winchester eyes. They're mesmerizing."

"Puhlease. As if Cas can't ignore those when he wants to. If you can't trust yourself, trust your top. He thought this would be good for you guys."

"I dunno, the Dean eyes are pretty powerful."

"Did they help you three weeks ago when you lipped him off at our house?"

"No, but they've got to be doing something. He hasn't handed any spankings my way since then." Yeah, it still surprises me how comfortable I am talking to Sammy about this.

"Any chance you've just been behaving yourself?"

"Possibly, but three weeks Sam?"

Sam smiles. "Yeah, that's gotta be some kind of a record for you."

I throw my bottle cap at him. "Shut it Sammy." We both laugh and he knows to take that as I'm feeling better about the whole thing. Cas is awesome and perfect in so many ways for me, but I still find I need my brother for others.

We involve ourselves in a game of cards, when we're interrupted by cries I know well. Cas is carrying a crying, wet Michael, who's shirtless, in nothing but his swim trunks. "Daaddy!"

"Hey bud," I say getting up and taking him from Cas, who's also wet. "What happened?" As I ask, I see it, his knee is bleeding, but it doesn't look that bad to be honest. He calms down, still sniffling and looking woe be tide.

"He tripped in the water, his knee hit a rock. It wasn't that bad, but he wanted you," Cas explains.

"Well Daddy's gonna fix this all up." I look at Sam. I've got basic stuff in the Impala of course, but I'd rather use Sam's deluxe stuff. I note Nick hasn't come running, which I'm kind of proud of him for—he's learning to relax and trust we've got things handled with Michael. It does, however, draw attention to the fact that he's not around.

"Where's Nicholas?" Cas asks.

"Inside. I said he could read for a bit in there, he's got…" I check my watch. "Fifteen minutes."

"Interesting. That's not the conversation him and I had."

Aw fuck. Well things are starting out real great. "Sorry Cas."

"Sorry? This isn't your fault." Wow, I really am on a winning streak in the Cas department. "I didn't get the opportunity to tell you what we talked about, but he knew. Sam, do you mind if I enter your vehicle?"

"Make yourself at home Cas, honestly—you don't have to ask. I insist you just go in and out. Dean will."

Yes Dean will.

Cas nods and heads inside, with me following after Sam directs me to where I might find stuff to clean up Michael's cut. I'm on my way to the way too fancy for a motorhome washroom when I hear Cas. "Nicholas, outside please."

"But I have ten more minutes. Uncle Sam said I could."

"And I recall telling you, you were supposed to be within eye sight of one of us until I said otherwise. Since my directive came before, I would think it has a little more weight don't you? Not to mention I am your father and not Uncle Sam."

"I, I'm sorry Papa, I just wanted to be alone for a bit."

Ah. I can figure out what happened. Nick's coping mechanism of late is to do just that—go into his head when he can't deal with a situation. It's this weird conundrum for him and I can understand, much as he wants to be with us, he wants space from us, which his fine, but he needs to lean on us for support rather then just rely on himself to 'fix' whatever's going on for him at the time in his own brain. "I know you do." I can tell by the sound of Cas's voice, he's doubting his own decision. It's a tough call to make. Of course 'alone' time can be a good thing. Helps you regroup, even settle down sometimes. But with Nick, it's often the last thing he needs. Pushing him to engage, feel part of us can be the best thing for him. I can see what Cas sees right now though, know he's looking into those lost, scared eyes, wanting to be firm and wanting to just hold him all at once.

"Bring the book." _Softie._ "But you're coming outside to sit with me."

I smile scooting into the bathroom with Michael before they come out and see us. I sit Michael on the counter, since it's big enough in this ridiculous thing. "So you fell on a rock, huh?"

"Yeah, Daddy. It hurt me, but I was brave like you."

So fucking cute. "Then why couldn't Papa fix this up?"

"Because I needed you to." And that's about all the reason you get from four-year-olds.

I'm a bit unconventional in my methods, I get him to stick his knee under the tap and let the water run over his scrape to get the dirt out—it's pretty small even though it bled some—and dry it off with a towel. It's not even Polysporin worthy, but I pull out the Band-Aids. "I think Uncle Sammy was thinking about you, look what he's go in here… Ironman Band-Aids, just like your pal." That brings his smile back. I tape way too many to his knee (it needs one, I tape three) and put him on his feet so he can run back out to the rest.

**

After the several hiccups of the day (there's never not hiccups and we only have two kids, how do people with more do it?) and we've eaten dinner, we're all around the campfire. Matty and Logan are too hyper for bed, but Michael's having a tough time staying awake even though he wants to. Nick finally looks comfortable. I decide to save the S'more making for tomorrow night and jump straight into what campfires are best for. "I think it's time to tell ghost stories," I say.

Cas doesn't look to like that idea. "We have a pretty young crowd for that, don't you think Winchester?"

"Naw, I picked one that wasn't too bad. Besides, I watched poltergeist when I was four and look at me—fine."

"Proceed Winchester."

I do. “ "Go straight to the store and don’t fool around," Tommy's mother said and gave him some dough. "Your father’s boss is coming to dinner tonight and we’re having his favorite meal of liver and onions. It’s important that we make a good impression, get the best liver they’ve got."

"I will, Ma," Tommy said. His mom had been after him since he brought home a failing report card. Tommy grabbed his bike from the garage and rode down then street. He really had planned on going to the store, but he saw his friend Chad.

"Come on, Tommy!" Chad called. "The gang’s playing baseball over at the park, and we need a pitcher."

All thoughts of his errand fled from Tommy’s mind. The boys headed toward the park. It was a kick-ass game, but by the time it was over, it was dark. That's when Tommy remembered his errand. "Fudge! The liver!" he said. "I’ve got to get to the store."

But, all the local groceries were closed. "My mom’s going to kill me," he said. First the bad report card, and now this? He'd be grounded for life."

"Papa, what's liver?" Michael asks Cas.

"A kind of meat."

Right, I guess he's never had liver. "And you have one in your body," I add.

"Oh."

"Can I finish the story now?"

"Yeah Daddy."

"If this scares him Winchester…"

"Does he look scared to you?"

Cas's got nothing, 'cause no he doesn't and neither do the twins, but Nick looks a little uneasy. "Anyway, so the kid rode home past the cemetery, he got an idea. It was an awful idea, but it would save him from the even more awful fate that awaited him if he came home without a liver. His great-uncle had died a few days ago and was buried in the cemetery. What harm would it do to remove it? His uncle didn’t need it anymore.

Tommy hurried home as silently as he could and got his father’s shovel. He returned to the cemetery and began digging up his great-uncle’s grave. That night, his mother cooked up the liver and onions and the boss raved about the meal and had such a good time that he didn’t leave until quite late.

Tommy went to bed that night relieved he'd gotten away with it. He fell asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow but woke with a start soon after, sure that he had heard a voice.

“Where’s my liver?” A creepy, ghostly voice rose up from the staircase, deep and guttural. Tommy gasped in fear and flung himself under the covers as the thud of heavy footsteps reached the top of the steps.

Thump. Thump. Thump. The footsteps drew nearer, until they reached Tommy’s door. “Who’s got my liver?” the horrible voice asked again.

“G-go away. Go away,” Tommy whispered. His whole body trembled in terror as once more the voice asked, “Who’s got my liver?”

Tommy could see the outline of something, someone through his blanket, standing in the hallway. Tommy wished the voice would go away, he shook and closed his eyes tight, hoping whatever it was would just go away."

This is the point in the story, I look around to see who's most involved and who I can scare the crap out of most.

"He sat there awhile with this eyes closed a long time, waiting for the creepy voice to ask about his liver again, but it never came. In fact, he listened very closely he couldn't hear a thing. Slowly the boy opened his eyes… It was you!" I reach out and grab Nick's leg and he jumps half a mile.

Everyone around the campfire jumps, even Sam. Michael jumps too, but he thinks it's funny and he's laughing. "Do that again, Daddy!" I don't think he really gets the story.

The twins are laughing too (definitely Gabe's kids in that way). Cas is cool, but I can tell that even he thought that was fun. I check in with Nick who has never had the experience of growing up with scary stories, he looks terrified and I did pick on him, so I grab him and pull him into me sideways, which is a little awkward with the arm rests of our chairs in the way.. "I scare you Nicky-Nick?"

"No. Just surprised me. It wasn't that scary, Dad." He doesn't move though, he does yawn and starts to close his eyes. Our kids both have bedtimes, much to Nick's dismay, that and the long day of driving has him tuckered. I can see Michael getting sleeping in his little camping chair. The twins look wide awake. I'm sure they slept a whole lot more in that big fancy moving house.

"How about we call it a night?" I say. Yeah I know. I'm so responsible these days. I look at Cas to see what he thinks.

"I could use an early night—more energy for tomorrow."

"C'mon, kid." Nick doesn't even complain when I pull him up and drag him off to the tent. Cas grabs up Michael.

"I'll come back and put out the fire Sammy," I tell him.

Sam yawns too. "Naw, you go ahead Dean. I promised the twins they could dump sand on the fire.

We use the lantern to light our way and duck into the tent. Cas and I switch kids when we're in the tent. I take a sleepy Michael to bed and Cas helps Nick remove his sweatshirt and get into his sleeping bag. "Dad? What if I have to pee in the middle of the night?"

Oh right. He's never done this before. "You just go outside and pee. It's pretty cool. Take the lantern with you." Gotta say, best perk about being a guy.

"By myself?"

"Yeah, you can. Or one of us can come with you…"

"No. I can do it."

After I get Michael settled with his Ironman, who spent the day in Michael's bag (Michael only seems to want poor Ironman at bedtime these days) I crawl into my sleeping bag—Michael's out already—and Cas is getting into his beside Nick. We don't even kiss goodnight, just a knowing look in acknowledgement. We're serious parents now and don't always have time for all 'a that stuff, but we know what I love you looks like.

**

"Rise and shine campers!" I say then give a good whack to gong I brought in my bag—snuck it in when Cas wasn't looking.

"Ugh! Da-ad!"

"I was! Sleeping! Daddy!"

"Winchester, you sorely need a spanking."

I'm the only one laughing—they're damn funny. I get two pillows thrown at me. I'm still laughing. Michael, seeing what his big brother and Cas did, winds up to try and throw his pillow, but I catch him mid-throw and tackle him, tickling his belly. "Daddy! Why did you do that?"

"Because it was fun."

"You know what wasn't fun? Peeing in the dark," Nick says.

"Oh come on, you lived," I say. "Still got your liver."

"Yeah, only to get spina bifida from sleeping on this mattress."

"I'm the one who slept with a Michael foot in my face," I say and can't help it; still laughing. Cas sits up. He's actually amused. "Okay, you've had your fun Winchester. Now that I've been so rudely awaken, you'd better get some coffee in me before there are consequences your butt won't like."

"All right. C'mon Michael, you wanna help make coffee?"

"No!" He kicks his feet to get away from me then crawls across to Cas and Nick with his Ironman, making himself at home in Nick's arms. They both close their eyes and I toss the pillows to Cas.

"You guys are poor sports." I make my way out of the tent, with my gong. I plan on playing the same prank on Sam, Gabe and the twins, but Sam is at the door of the motorhome.

"I don't think so Dean. Give me that."

"Okay. No one wants to have fun." I hand him the gong and feel lucky that gong is replaced with mugs of coffee.

"Nice try, Dean," Gabe says. "Next time you want to pull something like that, you should call on the master prankster."

"No more pranks you two. The kids don't need to carry on that tradition," Sam decrees.

"Says you. Winchester family tradition. That trumps all."

"Some of the Winchester traditions are better left alone. We doing breakfast in here or outside?"

"Outside, Sammy. You can't take away all of camping."

Sam rolls his eyes. "I'm not taking away camping. Babe? Do you mind pulling out the camp stove?"

"Sure thing angel kisses." Kiss.

"Blech. I'll go give this to Cas before I lose my appetite. Where are the twins?"

"Still sleeping, that drive was freaking long, Dean."

"You sure I can't wake'em up? It's tradition."

"That was never a tradition."

"Is now. C'mon, it's fun."

Sam picks up the gong. "Fine, but it's at your own risk."

**

Nick rises out of the tent and meanders over to where I'm cooking, Cas's large army green jacket over his pajamas. I run a hand through his hair and he does wrinkle his nose, but it's only minimal. "What's up kid?"

"Do you need help?"

"Did Papa send you?"

"Sorta. He suggested—it was an actual suggestion. He told me to tell you he's taking Michael to pee by the way."

Nick, Michael and I know when his suggestions are not suggestions. I think it's sweet he wanted to come help me even if it was Cas's idea. "How about you man the bacon?"

He nods, so I pass him the fork and he stands in front of the bacon, while I work on the eggs. Sam's inside toasting toast (after getting permission from me that it was okay and wouldn't be 'taking away the camping') and Gabe's making more coffee. I'm not sure what the twins are up to, but they're inside. At least they thought my gong was funny, so they got to keep it.

"Was your sleep really that bad?"

"Yeah Dad, it really was." My face falls a little. "But it could have been worse—thanks for sleeping with Michael's foot in your face."

"For you Nicky-Nick, anything." That makes him smile huge and I think maybe I can get him to have fun this trip yet. Michael comes running out from behind the tent, with Cas not far behind.

"Daddy I peed outside!" he says so everyone can hear him.

"Good job." He runs to my leg, hugs it then runs over to the motorhome where Sam is standing with toast that Cas takes from him.

"Hey bud, you wanna come in here with me?"

"Yeah," Michael says climbing up the stairs where Sam picks him up and puts him on his hip. He's really taken a liking to Sam, though sometimes it still takes him a bit to warm up. He must be feeling safe.

I notice Cas's empty mug. "There's more coffee in that thermos, Cas."

"Thank God. That was a terrible sleep." He refills his coffee.

Nick takes that as a criticism. "D-did I move around too much, Papa?"

"No. It's not your fault. It was the bed's fault. Believe me, Nicholas, when I say I lucked out with choice of sleep partner." Nick beams at the praise.

"Hey!"

"You know you move around almost as much as Michael, Winchester. You two belong together."

I want to complain more, but he's smiling in the way I know means he's teasing… mostly. I owe him one for the gong thing anyway, so I let it go. "Tell everyone, breakfast it up."

We push the two picnic tables together, moving the camp stove aside so we can all eat together. "See guys? Tastes better out here doesn't it?"

"Actually, it kinda does," Nick agrees.

"I don't notice a difference, Winchester," Cas says.

"Spoilsport."

"I think it tastes good, Uncle Dean." That's Matty.

"You'd eat a shoe if it looked at you the right way," Logan says to his brother, reminding me of Sam.

Gabe laughs. "You're one to talk Lo. Anyone with Winchester blood is bound to have a no holds bar appetite. Look at Michael."

Cas and I both freeze. Gabe didn't mean to and we're sly enough he doesn't notice his blunder, but Nick's very sensitive to that kind of thing—yeah, even though Cas isn't a Winchester by blood either. We relax when the moment seems to pass without a reaction from him.

"Daddy? Is that bee? It's buzzin' like one."

I look at the thing that's landed on Michael's plate. A fucking wasp. "Take a hike, asshole," I say swatting at it. Michael laughs. "That's a wasp, bud. Just swipe it away and hope it doesn't sting you. If it tries I'll kill it though."

"Get! Get out of here," Nick says swatting at his own wasp, er wasps. Pretty soon everyone is swatting at wasps.

"I'm sorry Dean. I'm not trying to 'take away camping', but let's go in—nature's a real bummer for eating," Gabe says.

He gets up to head into the motorhome. "Yeah Dean. Don't worry, I brought a bug shelter, we can set it up and eat outside for lunch."

"Sorry Dad, I'm going in too," Nick says.

One by one I get abandoned, Cas grabs Michael's plate and helps him inside, so I grumpily follow suit. Stupid wasps. It is super nice inside the motorhome, but I wanted to smell the fresh air as I ate my breakfast, not motorhome. Cas rubs my arm. "We'll get to eat outside, Winchester."

Things were just starting to get good. Now this. It's less and less like the camping trip we had with Dad.

After breakfast, we do set up the bug shelter tent-thing and put the picnic tables underneath. "This is where we eat from now on," I declare. It fits under the awning, so it should be no problem even if it rains.

"We'll eat here, Dean," Sam assures me.

We set up more stuff, like hammocks and a badminton net, but the wasps are still being assholes. "I brought chicken wings we can make for lunch, then we can make some wasp traps with the left over bones," Sam the super hero says.

"Chicken wings? Shouldn't we use some kind of sugar?" Gabe asks.

"Wasps are carnivores, they like meat."

"My mom always used to use grapes."

"Whoa, simmer down you two, let's make this interesting—we'll make different kinds of traps and see whose gets the most wasps. We can even—"

"—Absolutely no betting Winchester."

"Aw, Cas."

"But the competition sounds fun," Cas allows. "I'm going to make one too."

I settle for that. The younger kids think the bug tent is cool, so they take a board game and play it at the picnic table. Nick goes with them to help Michael. Cas slips in behind me. "How are you doing, Winchester?"

"Doing? Me? Fine."

"Okay. I'm taking your word for it for now, but I've got my eye on you especially at the moment, since Nick seems to have settled down for now."

"Yeah, you think he's doing okay? I might be worried about him a little."

"I told you, he's fine Baby. He just needs to push us, see us react and know we're still going to keep him."

"Yeah, I know."

"Now what's this about a night alone?"

"Oh yeah. The kids want to sleep in the cool bunk beds." I try not to sound resentful; Cas pretends not to notice.

"Oh? Well I'll make plans then." He spins me around and I get a nice kiss. Maybe kicking the kids out for a night won't be so bad after all.

When we're around the campfire again, I show Nick and Michael how to make S'mores. Matty and Lo have some experience, they've been camping (glamping) before, but this is a first for our kids. Neither kid can stomach more than two and have fun making them for Cas, who happily eats them.

It's late again when we all head to bed (yeah together again—the adults are going to have to arrange one party night, but we're all so tired all the time, least Cas and I are, we're happy to go to bed with our kids), Michael having fell asleep on my lap earlier and we keep the same sleeping arrangements. I got Nick to help me refill the mattresses earlier, so we're all set. I carefully lay Michael in bed, preparing for another night of foot in my face as Cas climbs into bed. "I'm going to pee Nick, if you want to come with." I feel like a bit of a girl saying that, usually only chicks pee together, but I know he was fucking scared last night, peeing in the dark.

"Yeah, I'll come," he says leaving his coat on, which is actually his coat for once; he's always stealing one of ours.

I give him a gentle nudge as we step out of the tent. "You still afraid Tommy's Great Uncle's gonna come for your liver?"

"I know that was just a story, Dad. But I..."

I pull out my dick to pee and he does the same. "Yeah?"

"This guy in class told me this story about a man with a hook who lives in the woods and he's some kind of serial killer."

It's stuff like that with Nick that breaks my heart, along with everything else. While he's too mature in some areas, he's naïve in others.

I don't like that kid in his class. I think he's caught onto some things about Nick. We have Nick go to an education center, so he could catch up. He's been working hard even through the summer (he finished all his homework and extra work, so he could come on this trip) and he's going to be able to go to school this September.

It's a good place, but some of the kids tend to be delinquents—usually the kids attending the education center are there because they purposefully didn't complete their homework and flunked out, unlike Nicky who would have done his work if he didn't have to look after an infant.

"No such thing, Nicky and even if there was, I wouldn't let him get within hooking distance of you. You got that kid?" I say, zipping up my pants as he does the same.

"Okay, but—"

"—but nothing. If what I'd do isn't enough, think about what Papa would do." I drag him back to the tent by the scruff of his neck.

"What about Papa?" Cas whispers having heard us, but trying not to wake Michael.

"You're responsible for any hooked intruders." I direct Nick in the direction of his sleeping bag, which is next to Cas.

"There's no such thing," Cas insists.

I climb into my sleeping bag beside Michael as Nick gets into his. "Go to sleep everyone," Michael says.

"Hey, I thought you were asleep, big guy?"

"I'm tryin' but no one will be quiet."

I can hear Cas and Nick trying to keep from laughing. "Okay, bud. Enter Sandman. We'll go to sleep."

I know no one's satisfied by the sleeping arrangement, but I am. I love having the three of them around me and I think it's super cool we're sleeping outside together. What a kick-ass memory this'll be. I think right now is one of my favorite moments of the trip.

**

_The third day's not so smooth…_

All the kids seem moody, which Cas blames on too much sugar, late nights and poor sleep accommodations. Michael almost rolled into the side of the tent (which I taught the kids is a big no since all the fucking condensation from last night will seep in) and I've begun to get concerned Darth Vader looks from Cas. What the hell's up with that? I haven't done anything and I'm fine dammit.

I come up with an idea. "C'mon guys, let's go fishing," I say thinking they're all gonna jump at the chance—I know I would have with my dad—especially Michael and Nick and since we spent forever making lures together.

"Maybe later Uncle Dean. It's too hot," Lo says.

Too hot my ass, it's because they're playing video games; they can jump in the fucking lake if they're hot. And video games on a camping trip? Still can't get over that. When I complained, Sam assured me they were limited use, but that they'd been good and deserved a little 'screen time.' Thankfully Nick wasn't interested, but his nose is in a book and he's laying on the hammock. Michael is, watching over Matty's shoulder hoping he gets a turn even though I'm the huge dick that said he can look for a bit, but he can play over my dead body… Which gives me an idea. I am a parent, even if I can be a huge kid too—it's my right to force them into stuff they'll hate now, but love later. "Michael, Nick, let's go. You two are coming with me." I can't make Matty and Lo, but I can make my kids come with me.

"Aw, Dad. I'm at a good part, can't we go later?" He flips the page and keeps reading.

"I don't want to Daddy. I'm watchin' this."

"Wasn't askin'. Now you two." I grab the fishing gear off the picnic table and expect them to follow. They do, if reluctantly. Both kids pout all the way down to the dock. The chances we'll catch anything are slim to none at this time of day, but it's the experience that matters. We'll bond, I'll drink beer and sneak them sodas, we'll eat the snacks I made. It'll be great.

The dock is long and older, but it looks to have been well maintained. It's awesome, because it's private for this property—no one else here but us. Nick still seems to drown in his clothes. We buy him stuff that fits of course, but we have to get it according to his height and he grows like a weed. It doesn't help that the baggy style is his preferred. So he's got on an oversized t-shirt and board shorts with sandals and looks too small even though he's not. He runs a hand through his hair. "What do you want us to do, Dad?"

"That's the spirit, Nicky. Reach into that box and grab me the lures." I thought doing the pre-tied lures would not only save us time and frustration, but would make them more interested in fishing. So far, that theory doesn't seem to be panning out.

"Those are the things we made, Daddy?" Michael asks.

 _Huh. Or maybe._ "They sure are. We're gonna catch a big fish and eat him for dinner."

I get them set up, showing each how to cast. Of course, I have to help Michael, but he and I take turns. Nick catches on pretty quick though. "That's the way, Nicky-Nick. Good job."

He smiles and looks surprised he can actually do it. We're out there an hour, which is not a long time in fishing time, but to certain four-year-olds, we might as well have been here decades. "I'm bored Daddy. When is the fish gonna come?"

"It takes time bud. You want to try another cast?"

"No. Can I pee in the water?"

It's times like these, I know he's my son, no paternity test needed. "Yeah, go for it—you need help?"

"I can do it, Daddy."

Our chances of catching anything lower significantly with Michael peeing off the dock. The fish have probably been scared away, within at least a ten mile radius. I expect Nick to be irritated, but he's laughing. "You know he's going to want to pee outside at home too now. Good luck with that," Nick says. He carries on fishing with a sharp recast.

I have to stare at him a few minutes. Does he realize what he just did? "I'm telling Papa on you."

"What? What'd I do?" His minor panic is a little fun.

"Something good." His comment. He completely relinquished all responsibility for Michael's new habit where it belongs, with me. He's getting it. I'm so damn proud.

"Please don't make a big deal and hang something on the fridge like you did last time."

"I will if I want to, in fact, Papa might want to."

"You two have got to be the most irritating, ridiculous parents on the planet." He's still not looking at me.

"You kinda love it though." He still won't look up. "C'mon, admit it or I really will hang something on the fridge and I won't even wait 'till we get home, I'll hand something on Uncle Sammy's ridiculous stainless steel one in the motorhome."

I get a quarter smile. "Yeah… kinda."

Michael's finished peeing in time for Cas to walk down the dock, which Michael goes running down to him and Cas catches him, throwing him up in the air before he settles Michael on his hip. "I peed in the water Papa."

"Winchester." That wasn't a very good Winchester. "He's going to want to pee everywhere at home too."

"S'what Nicky said."

"I assure you Nicholas, your dad's irresponsibility is not your problem."

"He said that too," I tell Cas with all the pride in the world.

Cas smiles big and forgets about me momentarily. "Did he?"

Nick blushes. "Yeah, yeah."

"That's excellent my boy. Good job."

"Okay, I'm not a puppy."

"And he doesn't want anything on the fridge either," I add.

"Nothing on the fridge," Cas says moving closer and running a hand through Nick's hair—I'm only mildly jealous he doesn't wrinkle his nose at Cas doing that. "But this calls for something." Cas doesn't say what though. "You really going to be okay sleeping in the motorhome tonight?"

Oh yeah that. I am looking forward to alone time with Cas, but this is a family trip. _Dad, Sammy and I spent all our nights in the tent. It bonded us as a family._

"I was the one who asked if we could, Papa."

"I know, but it may have been one of those things that seemed like a good idea at the time." Cas is looking at me.

Yep, that's my motto.

"No, I'm looking forward to sleeping in a real bed and Uncle Sammy said we could shower."

"Shower? I didn't authorize showering. We're supposed to all get smelly together." Of course that's me.

Nick's eyes bulge. Cas isn't having any of it. "I'm drawing the line at no showering Winchester. I don't care what you and your dad and Sammy did, this family is showering. If you don't shower, or at least wash up in the lake, you can sleep outside the tent."

Nick has to muffle a laugh, as I do my impression of a fish. "Fine."

"It's yes, sir. I'm going to take this one with me, you two going to keep fishing?"

"Yes _sir,_ " I say with too much snark. Cas notices, he always notices.

"Behave, Winchester."

This camping trip sucks.

"I'll stay with Dad, Papa."

Cas walks off with Michael resting his head on his shoulder (I think the kid's tired even if he'd not cranky). "You're in _truh_ ble," Nick comments with a whistle.

"Probably, but that's my middle name. Now c'mon, let's catch our dinner."

**

We get everyone in pajamas and set them up in front of the giant T.V in the motorhome. Sam brought movies. "Sorry Nick, it's How to Train Your Dragon, but you can watch something more age appropriate when the little kids go to bed."

"That's okay Uncle Sammy."

"Hey, do we get hugs or anything?" I ask. Nick's already made himself comfortable on his belly with a pillow and Michael's cozied up in the middle of Matt and Logan. But Sam's pressed play by this point, so it's nothing but crickets for my complaints.

Cas grabs my hand. "We'll be in the tent if you need us guys."

He has to drag me out of there with the sound of "Who wants a popcorn ball…" from behind us. Stupid Sam stole the recipe from Cas and brought some with him. Guess he thought of everything.

Cas grabs the big lantern from off the picnic table (which is still under the bug tent—Sam's bug tent) and is leading me away in a direction opposite from our tent. "Where are we going, Cas?"

"A walk."

"A romantic walk."

"Something like that."

I groan. Cas is going to spank me isn't he? There goes my streak.

"C'mon, I wasn't _that_ lippy, Cas," I complain as we walk.

"No you weren't."

"Wait, what? So we agree, no spanking," I say capitalizing on being right.

"Well I don't agree with that. Let's see if I can't change your mind."

Oooh!

We make our way down to the lake and to the maze of large rocks, which did you know, could double as a suitable spanking place? Yeah well neither did I. Cas sits down and pats his lap. "Aren't we gonna, you know, talk and stuff?"

"We most certainly are. Come."

"But Cas!"

"I can wait all night, Winchester." _Well he can then._ "While you face a tree."

"Ugh. Fine."

I lay over his lap and he pulls my camping sweats down starting right in with spankings casual as you please. They're a bit shocking after not having been spanked in so long. My ass gets a good dose before he stops. "Even with only the light of the lantern I can see how virgin these cheeks are—my mistake." He starts in again, this time only taking a break to pull my pants down more and work on my thighs for a bit.

"Ow. Ouch! Fuck. Cas!"

He gives me a break. "Why am I spanking you, pray tell?"

"I still stand by that I was only a little lippy earlier Cas—you agreed."

"Then I guess that can't be the whole story." I get a full 'nother round. I'm starting to feel it. "Any other ideas?"

"Because… because I need it." Even I can't deny how much relief I'm already feeling. Hell, just laying across his lap, him having me tucked in close makes me feel like I can let any ails fall away.

"You did. I've been seeing signs, I'm sorry there hasn't been time."

"That's okay Cas."

"No it isn't."

"Believe me it is. I was on a streak—three weeks."

"That won't be happening again, a couple of maintenance spankings would have gone a long way." Turns out I don't exactly like those, but I can't deny that yeah, I feel good after one. Refreshed and like I can handle anything thrown at me. As we all know, Cas makes decisions for me on what's best, which is not always what I 'like.' In the bigger picture, wouldn't have it any other way, I just like to complain. Can't make it too easy for him. "You've been winding yourself up over this camping trip—Dean, I can appreciate that you want to recreate what you and your family had, but I say that's enough now. We're making our own memories."

Just in case he comes across like an asshole, he's not. He's being exactly what I need and I get it. Him defining how it's going to go gives me the permission I need to just let go. That's my favorite fucking thing about Cas and our relationship… even if I may fight…okay, okay, brat about it from time to time, but in the end I'm actually hoping he'll save me from myself. The 'signs' he's talking about? That's me hinting be it conscious, or unconscious.

"Yes, sir."

Cas really begins working my ass over after our little chat, enough I have to put my hand back, trying to cover my poor backside (man I'm out of practice) but he grabs my hand, not missing a beat and pins it to the small of my back and keeps right on spanking 'till he feels the lesson's sunk in.

Usually he let's me cry over his lap a minute, but this time, I'm up, my pants are replaced and he's dragging me back to our tent, tears still streaming down my face. I figure out what he's doing, when my sweats are removed again, immediately upon entering the tent, he zips us in and pulls me to him. I cozy into my Cas lair, for some, fuck, cuddling okay? It's cuddling. I fucking love it.

"Shh, it's okay, Baby," he says, stroking my hair. "Are you missing him especially for some reason?"

I shake my head. "No, well, yeah, I always miss him, but things have been busy and I want to make sure I'm giving them good times to remember. The camping trip one was one of my best times with Dad and Sammy."

"And you knew you could count on that stuff to be good, so you tried to reenact it all."

"Pretty much, but when Nick hated everything—"

"—you just kept trying harder to get it right. Like there was some sort of checklist in your head and the more you checked off, the more successful this venture would have been."

"Yeah." Stupid mind-reader Cas.

He wipes at my tears. "Nicholas is having a good time. It was rough when we got here, but he's settled into it. Now he's just being teenager—it's a good thing."

"All he wants to do is read and he finds everything to do with nature and camping annoying. Thankfully Uncle Sammy has everything he needs to combat nature."

"You taught him how to fish and how to gut, fillet and cook the fish you brought back—even if the rest of the trip were to suck, which it hasn't and wont, wouldn't that be monumental enough? He loved that."

"Yeah, I guess."

"He also volunteered to eat crappy hot dogs with you and he hasn't complained… much about the sleeping situation which Dean, it's not the most comfortable."

"We should have gone to Hawaii, like he wanted."

"Do you need another spanking?"

"No, I just… I really do think I fucked this up and I hate that I did because he was looking so forward to having a family vacation."

"Ah, I see what's really going on. You're trying to please Nick. You don't feel good enough for Nick. Is that true?"

"No."

"Winchester…"

"Not exactly. A little? His life was just so shitty before, I feel like I've been making it shittier."

I expect this to be an angsty, sad moment, a moment of deep reflection and consideration. Instead, Cas starts laughing. "What's so funny?"

"Here I thought Michael had you wrapped around his finger, but no, it's Nicholas by far."

"Is not. You're the one giving him all the extra reading time."

"Because you've been giving me the Dean eyes over it."

"I have it on good authority that you can resist the Dean eyes."

"Okay, so I've been soft too, but he's been trying so hard and deserves it."

"Do you think… Is he ever going to get better, Cas?"

"Hurts here, doesn't it?" Cas says with a hand over my heart. I nod. "He will get better though. You've been good with him—exactly what he needs. You two are a lot alike you know." I know and if I didn't, Cas says that a lot.

After a bit more talking, I feel a thousand times better and after Cas fucks me into the blow up mattress, I feel a million times better.

We make up for lost time (our parental duties don't leave a lot of time for sex, not like this anyway) we fuck several times (I get my turn with his ass) we drink a couple beers and before we go for round seven (this is finally going to be the night of seven times) I put on my coat (it's gotten fucking chilly) to run out and take a piss.

But as I'm peeing, I hear a noise, one that's familiar and is coming from the bug tent. I head over and find Nick in nothing but his pajamas, shivering on one of the picnic table's seats. "Oh my god, Nick? Nicky? What the hell you doin' out here, kid?"

I pull him up. He's crying and shivering. I take off my jacket and put it around him. Fuck. I start crying. I squeeze him to me. I don't know what's wrong, but my instincts tell me to hold him tight. Eventually, his arms find his way around my frame and he latches on just as tight.

When his silent cries are just sniffles I begin my interrogation. "Mind tellin' me what that was all about?"

"I'm sorry, Dad. I made a mistake."

"What kind of mistake?"

"Can't we leave it at that?"

Do I want to leave it and say, yeah, okay don't worry about it? Hell yeah I do. He's so upset already and I can sense more is likely going to lead to more upset. But having a kid's made me grow up—despite some of my behavior that says otherwise. This is the shitty, hard part about being a parent, you gotta make your kid do things they don't want to for their own good. "Dude, are you kidding? You're crying, outside, alone in the dark. Do you have any idea how out of my mind I am right now?" No. No he doesn't. Not 'till he has kids of his own. Oh, that's a good one. "You will when you have kids of your own."

"B-But, it'll hurt your feelings."

"I can take it."

"I… I came out here a while ago. I know, I'm a fifteen, going on sixteen-year-old baby, but Uncle Gabe said something. He didn't mean to make me feel like I did, but I just needed some reassurance, so I told Uncle Sam that I was going to come sleep with you guys."

"Freaking out parent here, Nickster—what did he say?"

"I'm getting there. He just, he saw how many popcorn balls Michael was capable of eating and called him a _real_ Winchester. See? It's so dumb." Fuck, Gabe. He said something like that earlier. It's usually meant as a light-hearted dig to me, but he does it so often, looks like he does it without me there too.

"That's not dumb and you know you're a real Winchester, right? I say who's a Winchester and who's not and I say you are. Got it?"

He smiles. "Yes, sir. I do get it, I swear, I just couldn't get rid of the feeling inside, no matter how hard I tried. I wanted to see you."

Me. Not Cas. Me. Huh.

"But then," sniff, sniff. "But then…" he buries his head in my chest again, crying; trying to control his crying.

This must be the part about me. "C'mon Nicky-Nick, you can tell me anything."

"It'll hurt, it'll h-hurt…"

"Even if it does, I'll still love you kid. C'mon, do it, you'll feel better."

He takes a big shaky breath. "I heard what you were saying to Papa and I, I, well I must h-have misunderstood, but I… well you couldn't have, but it didn't matter, I felt paralyzed. I couldn't move forward to go in the tent and I couldn't go back inside, so I thought I'd stay here 'till it passed."

"But it wasn't passing?" He shakes his head. "What did I say?" I'm scanning my brain, but nothing I said seems to be… oh. _Oh._ I think I know. "Was it when I was talking about how all you wanted to do is read and that you find everything to do with nature annoying?"

"Yeah."

"Aw, Nicky. It's not like you were thinking."

"I know. I know okay? I just felt like maybe I was ruining your camping trip and maybe you wished you'd left me at home."

A really quick, _how could he think that?_ runs through my mind, but it's erased just as quick when I remember what he's been through—of course he'd hear that and think what he did and worry. I don't take offence to it at all. I mean, I feel bad that what I said hurt him like this, but no hurt feelings. Just so much love for this boy.

I bury him further into me, so all I can see is the crown of his head and kiss it. "Nick, it's fine. I'm not mad or hurt or anything."

Another nod. "I wish I wasn't like this. Am I always going to feel like this?"

"No you won't, promise." I sure as fuck hope not, for his sake and I'll keep saying it, 'till him and I both believe it. God he breaks my heart. "C'mon."

"Where we going?"

"To get Papa."

**

I wake up to the smell of coffee and see the tuffet of messy hair moving around the kitchen, the one that belongs to my husband. Did I mention he's shirtless? After sleeping in a tent for a few nights, sleeping inside with sleeping bags was fucking hot. Oh, and I'm not wearing a shirt either if anyone wants to know.

We talked to Nick awhile last night and spent some time with him. We assured him like crazy, knowing how little that does, but we're not, _not_ going to do it. He still needed to hear it and we needed to say it. Then, we tucked Nick into the bottom bunk, across from Michael in the motorhome and made beds in the living room. I took the floor and made Cas take the couch.

He slips a coffee into my hand, when I creep up behind him and slide my hand across his bare waist. He leans his head back and we kiss. "Morning, Cas." Moments like these are rare for us.

"Morning, Baby."

Just after that, Sam and Gabe walk out in nothing but housecoats (I hope to Christ there are boxers under those) and Sam takes in the scene. "Did you two sleep in here last night?" he asks.

"Did you two bring housecoats, camping?"

Sam reties his a little tighter and helps himself to coffee, pouring Gabe one too. "Look, we had something happen last night," I say hushed hoping Nick can't hear.

"We'd rather explain later though, if you don't mind," Cas says glancing toward the door where the boys are sleeping.

"Of course," Sam says.

Speaking of the boys, I spy the gong on the kitchen counter. I put my coffee down. "Dean," Cas says.

"It's tradition, Cas."

"Since when?"

"Since two days ago." He's not stopping me, so I take that as permission. There's a certain amount of bratting that's permissible to Cas, which can fall under the category of, so long as it doesn't annoy him.

I tip-toe in and notice that Michael's made his way into Nick's bed. They're so cozy. Michael's got his hand gripping Nick's pajama shirt, which is actually one of my old t-shirts (he stole it awhile ago and he won't give it up) and they're both breathing so sweetly. Nick's hair's all flopped over on the pillow, his head curled toward Nick. Fuck. I almost can't look at them when they're like this, but then, I can't stop looking either. I think things I try my best never to think.

_Maybe Cas is right, maybe I should let them sleep._

Fuck it. They're Winchesters now and might as well get used to their goofy Dad. Besides, they need stories to complain about when they're forty.

Gong! Gong!

All four of the kids jump. The twins immediately start laughing. Nick lolls his head over. "Dad!"

Michael's pi-issed. He sits up like the fucking Crypt Keeper, opens his eyes, rubs them and tells me off. "Daddy! You give me that thing right now!"

I can't help it. I start laughing. Hard. Michael storms off the bed and pulls the gong out of my hand. "Go get Papa to spank you." Then he storms back, hands the gong to Nicky, who stuffs it under his pillow and climbs back up the bed, curling into his brother. Wow. Never wake a sleeping Michael.

Much later, Sam and I are alone drinking beers on the dock. We took the kids swimming in the lake and had an awesome barbeque lunch. Then I wandered down here to watch the sky; Sam followed.

"You know Dean, at risk the of being unpopular, the camping trip with Dad isn't as fond a memory for me as it was for you—wait, lemme explain before you bite my head off. I know it was rare time with Dad, but Dean," he sighs. "Dad was burnt out then too and it wasn't fun like kids want to have fun."

"He still taught us how to fish."

"He did, but you and I ended up doing it ourselves more than with him, while he slept."

"He was tired, Sammy."

"I know, I'm not putting him down, but from a kid's perspective, well, I just didn't have a good time _like_ you had a good time. I did have some fun moments with you, but overall, it wasn't what I would have chosen."

"What's your point, Sam?"

"Dad did what he could—I get that now that I'm a parent. But it wasn't hearts and flowers and we can't go back and make it better, only be grateful experiences like that made us who we are. Don't feel sorry for Dad Dean, don't try do overs for him and don't think things have to be his way to have a good time. Your kids think you're pretty great for who you are and after all, aren't you, _you_ because of Dad?"

I get it; I get it. Dad lives through me or some crap. "Okay, okay, knock off the philosophical bull shit and drink your beer, Sammy."

"I don't know if I'm getting through to you, or you just want me to stop talking." Both. "But let me put it to you this way, I had a sucky time on that trip Dean, like a fucking horrible time and I _still_ remember it fondly and I'm glad it was shitty because this trip has been awesome in a way that it couldn't have been if it hadn't sucked so much."

"See, cause I recreated it."

"No ya goof, because we know how to make it better and… we can give these kids the good parts of Dad, without the shitty parts. Ya know?"

"Dad was great Sammy, there weren't any shitty parts."

Sam sighs. "Dean."

"No Sam. I don't wanna hear anymore."

"Okay big brother, but give yourself and Dad a break—you don't have to be on a pedestal and guess what? You're still their hero."

**

"Here ye, here ye, I call to order the weekly Winchester family meeting."

"Dad, how many times do we have to go through this? I'm the chair and run the meeting," Nick says.

"Sorry Nickster."

"Papa," he complains.

"Dean."

"I'm just having fun." I pout and shut up when Cas gives me _that_ look. My three week streak is really over. I've already gotten two spankings since we've been home. You'd think I'd be on my best behavior after being spanked, like Gabe often is, but my best behavior doesn't last long—Cas admits he likes me this way. Right now though, well it's a good idea to heed the look.

"What does it say on the agenda, Nicholas?" Cas says taking over this meeting.

"Number one is chores for the fall."

"Thank you. I have taken some time to devise a list and have assigned each of us age and ability appropriate chores. I have taken into consideration requests from the last meeting." Cas hands out the lists, even one to Michael. He's such a cute little nerd. He already enjoys checking off things on lists. Cas always prints his out by hand in crayon and makes the check boxes extra big for him. He's a fuck awesome Papa.

"What do I got, Nicky?" Michael asks. He's dying to learn how to read and we're teaching him. The twins could read early, so we figure he could too, but the list is a bit out of his abilities, for now.

"You're going to help me clean the patio furniture and put away the summer toys and you're going to help Dad wash the deck for starters. You're going to help Papa with all the laundry for the beds and the curtains and stuff. Think you can handle all that?"

"I can. What about you, Nicky?"

"Says I'm supposed to help Dad with the gutters and downspouts, wash and check the windows and re-caulk if needed with Papa."

"Phrasing!"

"Dean."

I laugh.

"I'll show you how to use the power washer this year, Nicholas, you and Michael might be able to do it together next year."

"Am I going to be the only leaves raker this fall, Papa?" Nick asks.

"That's what I had been thinking, do you object?"

"No, sir. I was just checking."

"Checking, why?"

"I… well with school and everything, you're sure I'll have time?" He's very concerned with having time and school.

Cas only has to look him up and down to read his mind. "I am, however, none of this is meant to stress you out, or create conflict with your school work. You need but to ask one of us—nobody minds pitching in if you need help, but without telling us, the job can't get done and getting the job done, no matter who does it, is your responsibility. You'll be in just as much trouble for not coming to us for help if you're struggling, as you would be for not doing your chores. Am I understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"Are there anymore questions about chores?" Cas asks.

"Do I get money?" Michael asks.

"For your chores? I've afraid not my lad. I expect everyone to pitch in. If you need money for something, all you have to do is ask."

"Okay, Papa."

"Who gets money for their chores?"

"Matty and Lo," Michael says.

I can't believe Sammy with that one, but his argument is that it's the only way for them to _earn_ money and feel the satisfaction of _earning_ money at their age, in case they want to buy a gift for either one of their dads. A fair point, but we feel more strongly about the contributing. If they want to _earn_ money, they can do something extra that's not on their chore list.

"Papa?"

"Yes, Michael?"

"I need some money."

"Financial requests are third Papa," Nick points out. He's very strict about sticking to the agenda. Cas level strict. And he's been given the power to keep us on track.

"Thank you Nicholas. Michael, your brother is right. We'll have to discuss your financial request in a moment. For now, if nobody has any further questions, you can tick off the box next to this on the agenda."

Michael's remained our note taker, with help. We pre-do notes for him and add as needed. "Okay, Papa."

"Next, it says discuss camping trip," Nick says.

"Okay. I want us each to go around and say something we liked, something we didn't like, would we do it again and if we did, what would we suggest to improve the trip?" Cas makes it sound like we're filling out restaurant customer service cards. "It will make it easier to decide if it's something we'd like to do again and give everyone a chance to vent or praise the trip. Who'd like to start?"

I put up my hand. "Hell yeah I'd do it again. I loved camping. I loved teaching you boys useful life skills and sex in the tent with Papa."

"Winchester, do not write that last part down." Both Nick and I help Michael take down the extra notes.

"TMI Dad," says Nick.

"You'll live, you know what's up."

"I never need to hear it."

I laugh. "What fun would that be? But as for things I didn't like, well, just the wasps, but at least we figured out how to trap them." Sam's chicken bone traps won the contest by far, but Gabe's sugar traps didn't do too badly—I figure we just set up both next time. "But next time, for the sake of everyone's sanity, we can go somewhere closer and maybe rent an RV or something—but nothing like the one Uncle Sam had; that's too far."

"Noted Winchester," Cas says. "I had a good time, but if I ever see a blow up mattress again it will be too soon, so I was going to suggest RV or something like that too. If we camp again, we'll officially be glampers. Other than that, I enjoyed the fresh air and the peace and quiet. I learned the lengths my husband will go to 'make' his family have a good time." He smiles a me fondly.

"I didn't know we were supposed to add what we learned," I complain.

"I wanna say somethin' next Papa," Michael says ignoring my complaining. "I had fun camping."

"You did? Why?"

"I liked peeing outside." Not surprising. "And the fire and the tent." Michael and I are the only ones who liked the tent. "Can we go back there?"

"Probably," Cas says. "What did you learn when you were camping?"

"Um, how to fish?"

Barely. No wonder it sounds like a question.

"You fished for five minutes, dude, then you peed off the dock," Nick says smiling.

"Daddy showed me." He glares at Nick

"Okay. Cool your jets."

"Anything else? What about the S'mores?" I prompt Michael before more bickering.

"Yeah. Those. Papa likes those."

"I do. Okay, good, that just leaves Nicholas."

My stomach squeezes. I'm not sure how good a time he had. I think I know—he seemed to have a good time, but it was hard with all the worrying I did.

"Dad was right, I had a good time once I adjusted. I actually didn't mind the tent, but those mattresses gotta go. Maybe one of those cots? We could use an army tent? Definitely rent a truck versus the Impala. Those would be my suggestions. And the bug tent was a good idea. As for what I learned though I…" His voice wavers a little. "It was a really good trip, I'm glad we went."

He followed Cas's lead with the whole 'I learned' thing. Now I wish I'd said something. Even Michael talked about learning to fish, though it's barely true. "What? I wanted to hear the other thing," I say.

"If you can't say it now, Nicholas, that's okay, but we'd all like to hear it."

"It's stupid."

I want to huff. How many times have we been through this? But I get it and I see me. I just don't want him to have to feel that way is all. "C'mon Nicky-Nick. If you want to, that is," I add when Cas gives me death lasers.

Nick fiddles with his thumb and can't look up, but he does speak. "I learned that, that I am wanted." His voice is quiet, like if he says it too loud it might stop being true. He sniffles and wipes at his eye. He looks up and it's the saddest face you can imagine. It says, _I don't know why you guys want me, but I'm fucking glad you do. Don't stop._

The moment is too fucking sad, so I have to fix it. "Of course you're wanted dumb-ass." I reach across the table to still his finger picking his thumbnail clean off. I get a small, grateful smile. _Sometimes you need to be rescued from emotion…_

"That's not polite, Daddy," Michael scolds.

"That's right. Daddy's not very polite. Sorry, bud."

Cas surveys each of us. "I'm very glad you learned that Nicky. We're all going to make sure you remember—help Michael write that down."

"I can do it myself Papa." Michael can write M's and C's and E's and L's and a few others thanks to me. So he thinks he can make words. He's so cute.

Cas gives Nick a look that says to write it down after the meeting. Nick nods.

"Does anyone have anything else to add?"

Neither Nick or I can speak anymore and Michael thinks he's writing stuff.

"Okay, then onto financial requests?"

Nick asks for a bike, which he tries to negotiates he needs to ride to school on. Cas informs him he will not be riding to school on a bike, but there is the possibility he could get one for his birthday. He doesn't seem to want one for his birthday and he seems stressed about the whole thing.

"Nicholas, Dad's going to drive you to school, remember?"

"Yeah, he said that. I know." He looks down at his hands and again with the thumbnail picking.

We know he's not okay; Cas and I both look at each other and decide to leave it for now. This is about more than getting a bike.

"Michael, you said you required money?"

"Yeah, I need money, Papa. Please."

"Thank you for remembering your manners. What for? You have to say why—why it's important."

"I want to get a snake like Matty and me found."

Both Nick and I look at Cas with a "No fucking way," in our eyes. He stills us with his hand and lifts Michael out of his seat and onto his lap.

"Why is it important you have a snake?"

"Because. I want one Papa. I think I’m going to name him Ed the Snake."

"Cas…"

Cas runs a hand through Michael's hair. "I'm afraid we can't get a snake, my lad."

Fucking thank god.

"Why come, Papa?"

"This house is nowhere near ready for a fifth member. Besides, I already saw one in the garden we can hunt for," he says with a wink.

Cas is getting a serious blow job for that one later.

"Okay Papa. Can I go play now?"

"Almost, we just have one more item…"

When the meeting is adjourned, the kids run off. "What do you think that was all about with Nicky, Cas?"

"I don't know, but I'm going to find out." He takes my hand and kisses it. "Promise. You mind looking over Michael's 'notes' and making sure everything is documented for me? I have to make a phone call. "

"Sure thing, Cas."

I love looking over Michael's notes anyway. But I almost have a heart attack. There, plain as day in Michael's large and mismatched writing it says: 'NICKE WANTD.'

Holy fuck! "Holy fuck! Cas! Cas! We have a four-year-old genius."

I'm talking to no one though. Holy crap. I can't believe how smart something made with my genes is. On instinct, I first, largely contribute my brother, but I taught him those letters. _I did._ That one's staring me in the fucking face—can't deny that one.

And you know somethin'? I'm starting to learn that I'm not so bad myself in the intelligence department. Cas has been telling me, Sam's been telling me—even Gabe, but I don't get it, like Nick won't get he's wanted. _'Cept he does get he's wanted now._

That must have taken bravery to make that decision and I'll bet it's a decision he has to keep making; to trust, to believe he's wanted, always with the fear it could be taken away. But the kid does it anyway.

So I make a different decision (Nick did it, so I can too), 'cause it looks like I did learn something from the trip (it took me a bit to get there and no one's around to hear it, but I did) I learned that we can choose to have a different perspective and if I choose that perspective enough, I might just start believing it. "I taught Michael letters," I say out loud. "I fucking taught Mike letters and now he can write shit. Taught Sammy too and he's a fucking lawyer. Good fucking job Winchester." _Thank you, Nicky-Nick._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who doesn't know who the Crypt Keeper is: 
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ys2akYEDRBM


	35. Time Stamp: A Big Daddy Dean Episode: Everyday Brats

For all those with this story bookmarked and not subscribed to me, I posted a new BDD TS HERE

Okay, that link is not working, it's here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/8483560


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